The Bastard Ch. 03

"Was I okay?"

"You were wonderful!"

She laughed, suddenly, into her hand.

"Here, love." I handed her the wine. She sipped it and swallowed. She had a bizarre grin. She laughed again, something between a giggle and a guffaw.

"I did it, didn't I? I gave you a blow job!"

She put the glass down and launched herself at me, her face to my shoulder. Whoa! I grabbed her and held her while she hugged me. She moved her head back and forth and talked into my chest.

"Oh, Edward! I was so afraid! I didn't know I could do it. I thought I'd get sick, or I'd be terrible."

She laughed a third time. It was a laugh of relief, wasn't it? I felt her soft flesh, her mouth, her little breasts, her eyelashes, but then it all changed. I couldn't be prepared, and I wasn't, when she began snuffling. By the time she sat back she was teary-eyed. It was as though something terrible had happened.

"Elizabeth?"

Her chin began to crumple.

"Elizabeth?"

"I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes. "I'm happy. Really." She smiled brightly, much too brightly, tearfully, and rubbed her eyes again. "I wanted this to be special for you." Her voice went to a higher pitch. "What if I couldn't do what you wanted?" At the end of the sentence her voice broke entirely and she began crying.

Oh Jesus, no! How did that happen? Come here. Hold her close. Pet her. Murmur to her. Tell her how wonderful she is.

I could feel her damp face, feel my chest getting wet.

Oh shit, Elizabeth! You're not ready for the bigs. I brought you up too soon.

She couldn't seem to stop herself. "I'm sorry I'm being such an idiot."

Shh, my fiddler girl, my little cocksucker. Cry if you want to. I love your mouth. I love every part of you. I want to do everything with you, over and over. If only this weren't so strange.

We lay together on her bed for over an hour. I kissed both her eyes, her forehead, her nose, an ear, a cheek, her mouth, and I told her she was beautiful. She calmed. I tickled her with my fingertips and sucked on her nipples and gave her a nip just below her navel. I petted her through her pad. When she grabbed my hand to stop me I rushed back to her face and held her arms beside her head and planted kisses on her face all over again. She grew happy, really happy, and content, so after awhile we could simply lie side by side, looking at each other and talking about nothing while we held each other. I began to doze and had to rouse my self to leave.

*****

What did I think of her?

That's what you want to know, isn't it?

I don't know the answer, not exactly, not clearly. She was unstable. Or she was wonderful. I didn't know. I couldn't tell. I thought something. I don't know what. I can't say it. I don't know how. I once made a girl cry by breaking up with her. I'd gotten any number of blow jobs. The two don't exist in the same universe. No one had ever cried over sucking me. No one had ever cried because she thought she might not be able to please me. Not that I know of.

What had I gotten into? When we were done, would she stalk me? Or would she wither away in that apartment, be a recluse, a ghost, a hermit, announcing her presence only by the occasional, despairing sounds of a cello sifting under her door? Would it kill her?

She's too fragile, Ed! What should I do? I don't know.

*****

I called her Sunday morning. I had some paperwork but would come over mid-afternoon. I didn't want her to be alone.

"I have to practice, Edward." That was all right. I'd bring food and would read and cook while she practiced. I'd make dinner. "I don't eat red meat," she said. Fine. Ed Hyde isn't dissuaded. I'd leave the ground chuck at home.

I stayed out of her way while she did her exercises. She played the same set of cello parts, over and over, the music following me through the apartment, rich, sad strings. I baked a salmon casserole and read some funding reports while it cooked. I read the reports and I drank tart Rhine wine, surrounded by the smell of baking and her music, and sometimes I'd put down my papers to look into the little living room, to watch her practice in front of the tiny, gas-log fire.

*****

After dinner I led her to the bedroom.

"You have to trust me."

I lay a towel across the bed and stripped her. She already had a tampon. "Take it out." Then, "Lie down." I played with her body and we kissed, and then finally we had sex. There wasn't any blood to speak of.

She has the sweetest, lean, pale body, small breasts, and dark hair but not too much of it. I ran a single finger everywhere, while she rested. I got a slippery mixture of juice and semen out of her and drew sketches on her stomach, sketches that dried into invisible art before I finished them. Sometimes there was a faint red tinge. "Turn over. Onto your stomach."

I played with her bottom, an innocent, white, smooth bum, massaging her gluteus before going between her cheeks. I played with her anus, letting my finger go around and around it, then taking the finger down to her vagina and getting it slippery, then back up and pushing it into her. She tensed but didn't say anything. So it was. I'd gotten into the back door. I'd get further. Take the next step. I pushed my finger all the way in. Her anus was tight around it. She still didn't say anything. I finger fucked her anus for a minute, nice and slow, all the way in and out. Hold it there.

"I'd like to be in there." I pushed my finger in again.

"Not your finger?"

"No. My penis. I'd love to be inside you here." She thought about it for a minute while I moved my finger around in her.

"I don't know."

"Oh, you might try it. It could surprise you." I got my finger slippery again and ran it around her rim, and while I did I told her why and how she might do it. I didn't tell her the big reason, the one I was relying on. I told her the other things. "You think it will hurt."

"Uh-huh. That's part of it."

"But it doesn't. Not if you do it right, not if I lubricate you and play with you a long time and let you open slowly, and especially if I play with you up front too."

She didn't answer.

"And you think it's dirty."

"Yes."

"But it's usually not." I drew more slippery circles around Elizabeth's anus. She got goose bumps on her ass, and clenched it. "And it doesn't have to be at all. I can clean you, so your ass will be pristine." She lay still while I played with her slippery anus some more. "Do you want to know how?"

"I'm not that innocent, Edward. I know how. When would I do it?"

"I'd do it. It would be part of the playing."

"You wouldn't go into the bathroom with me, would you?"

"Not if you didn't want me to." I had a thumb in her ass now, and the other one in her vagina. I was hard again, all the way up.

"I don't know." But she would. She would, for the big reason. Women, almost all of them, want to let their guys do things, especially when the blossom is fresh on the vine. That's the one reason you stay silent about, or you ruin it. As things go I could have done her right away. She raised her hips to let me thumb fuck her, and I got up behind her and fucked her vagina from behind. I kept a thumb up her ass the whole time, all the way in. She was tight and elastic. Exquisite.

*****

*****

"You don't want to get as old as me."

Mrs. Chandler was almost ninety, and frail. Not like those hearty octogenarians you run across these days. No, she was the old fashioned type, all sticks and parchment. There was almost nothing there at all—no body, rheumy eyes, wispy hair, whispery voice. She was completely desiccated. I had thought working with her, of all people, would stop Elizabeth from running around inside my head. She sat hunched over in her wheelchair, but she was alive in there somewhere and she wanted to change her will to leave three-hundred thousand dollars to keep the music flowing.

It was ten days before she would die. Of course I didn't know that. I did know she had a clear mind and no one to hold her. This was a nursing home for well-off folks, so she had brought some old furniture with her, and the walls were covered with paintings and with photos of mostly long-dead family members, but she was seldom visited by the living ones. I felt sorry for her.

"I didn't have sex until I was twenty-six, and it was so good I did it six days in a row. I rested on the seventh." She laughed, which was a sound like two blocks of wood being rubbed together. "It was like I'd created a whole new world. I wanted to do it all the time. I did everything. Everything!" When she said "everything" the second time she opened her eyes wide and gave me a look that was almost insane. I hadn't brought up the subject. She got around to it in her own way, and on her own schedule. It was what she wanted to talk about, and she was the patron.

"I wish I hadn't lost those years, but back then you didn't do that sort of thing, and who knew we were wrong?" I nodded. "I had so many lovers. I had one-night stands. I knew more about men's bodies than most call girls, and the whole time almost everyone thought I was Miss Goody Two-Shoes." I nodded again.

"Then I met Mr. Chandler." Here a sigh came out from some place inside the shell. "He courted me, and he was a millionaire. What would you do?"

"I don't know."

"You're not shocked, are you?"

"No."

"I knew you wouldn't be. Well I decided I wouldn't be young forever and I needed to settle down." She was silent for a minute. I waited her out. "Sex with him was terrible. He was flabby, and his breath was always bad, from cigarettes, and he didn't know anything interesting to do."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Mr. Hyde. But feel sorry for my letting age catch up with me, not for Mr. Chandler. After all, it wasn't his fault. Not all of it. And he was sweet, and generous, and he really loved me." That sigh again. "I found ways to have my men on the side, just not as many. And when my husband died he left me almost everything, though by then his family had found out some things about me and didn't approve." She paused. "I think he knew those things too, but he never showed it." It was the first time she'd called him her husband.

We sat in silence while I thought of other people, of my mother and how she'd withdrawn from the world when my son-of-a-bitch of a father died, and of Elizabeth. Why hadn't my mother gotten a second life, like so many other widows do? What would Elizabeth be like when she was ninety? I tried to imagine something else. Finally I asked Mrs. Chandler if she wanted to discuss her bequest, but she didn't.

"Don't get old, Mr. Hyde. You're young and vigorous. You don't want to lose it. You don't want to be like me. I haven't experienced desire, the physical part, for years, and I miss feeling it. Do you have a young woman?"

"I'm not sure I can answer that."

"Yes." The carved head nodded. "It's often like that. I had many I wasn't sure of. Some of them were sure of me. I was sure of only two. One died and the other broke my heart. It was easier getting over the broken heart." A tear formed in a mottled eye and wandered an inch down the face, where it spread among all the crevasses. It was as incongruous as a tear on the face of an old, carved, cigar-store Indian. "But there were always more young men to play with until enough years had passed that my body fell apart and they weren't interested in me except for my money. Then there were older men. Then there were only impotent men. And then I lost my sexual appetite. It just happened, Mr. Hyde, all by itself, like sand through an hourglass." Silence again. "It's terrible to have only your memories."

"I'm sorry."

"That's all right. I'm not a believer, but sometimes I convince myself that when I go I'll join my one, dead love, my dear Jer, and we'll be young like we once were." She changed the topic, and it was abrupt. "Well, Mr. Hyde, my attorney has already drawn up and filed the papers. The bequest is set. I won't change it. But I have a request for you, and I can understand if you refuse."

"Refuse?"

"Once more before I go I'd like to taste and feel a man."

"Taste and feel."

"There are rumors you can be generous with yourself, and that you are creative." She gave another little block-on-block laugh, which turned into a cough. She couldn't get the phlegm up, so for a minute or two it sounded as though it were vibrating in place while she tried to breath. Finally, "I haven't tasted a man in years. Or felt a swollen Kadiddlehopper." She cackled at her choice of words, and for a moment I thought the phlegm would come up again. Finally, "I can still taste a little. If you would indulge an old woman in this, it would give me a fresher memory. The old ones are so tattered, I don't know what I have forgotten."

"You aren't joking, are you Mrs. Chandler." It was a statement, not a question.

"No. Will you?"

I didn't have to consider it long. I stood and loosened my belt. I got close to her face so she could watch me work it up. She seemed absorbed by the sight. "All right Mrs. Chandler. Will you do me the honors?"

"Thank you, Mr. Hyde. And it's Dorrie." She sucked me into her mouth. I was surprised at the heat and moisture, and how supple she was inside. Getting to orgasm without the desire wasn't very interesting, but it wasn't hard to do, and after I finished she said, "I had forgotten so much of what it was like, Mr. Hyde, what the real experience was. Now I remember. It took me back so nicely. Thank you."

Is it too hard for you to believe I did it as a gift?

*****

*****

I conquered Elizabeth's ass at my apartment because she got a roommate. "I can't afford the apartment by myself, Henry." That was her explanation, and I guess it was true. Of course it was. She's no daddy's girl. The roommate would have the dining room, which could be closed off. We would still have the bedroom, but not the whole place. I hadn't a clue about Justine until she moved in.

Yes. Justine. And yes. I'm not the only one who's read de Sade, am I? She isn't that Justine, though, the virtuous girl abused by others. Not a chance. This one could be the abuser. You could see it in her eyes. I could almost smell it on her. Sometimes you can tell when you first meet them, but Elizabeth couldn't. Justine presented worlds of possibilities. I knew she wasn't worth the risk.

So I took Elizabeth to my place. She loved it. It's the opposite of hers. She loved the polished brass and polished, wood floors, the marble insets, and the windows that reached from the floor. It was light, bright, with carved touches along the halls. She loved that my furniture was so different from hers, my square, pale oak pieces, the mixture of old American and modern Danish. We aren't alike in anything, or not much. I was hoping we were complementary in sex. I had let her know at the beginning of the evening what I had planned for us. She hadn't said a word about it, but she'd been quiet. My fear: would she cry again?

You've experienced it, haven't you? Being on a different plane than your lover. She goes along but isn't swept along. It isn't quite right but you don't want to step back from it. So it goes. I kissed Elizabeth and touched her and licked her, to bring her over, but what she wanted was to get on with it. Me? I was pulled by my lust for her ass, going fast, too fast to consider slowing down. It speeds through me like riding the mile-high slide at the water park.

Play with her ass, Ed. Push your slicked fingers into her. One, two, three. I'm ready for it, Edward. She was so tense her anus had tightened right back up, but I was filling her with water. God bless it! Her head was down on her arms, her hips up high, such a beautiful pose of submission for me. Go empty yourself, Elizabeth. Then: ass up again. Refill her. The bag went from fat to flat and Elizabeth made a sound in her throat I couldn't interpret. Her belly muscles shimmered. My Elizabeth. My trooper. Empty yourself. I'll slick you up again. Lie down here, legs off the bed. Here's my erection at your anus. Push.

I held it all the way inside her, as deeply as I could. Hold it. Hold it. Don't move. God damn just feel it taking in the whole depth of her. Elizabeth was grabbing breaths and holding them. Now pump. Out, in. She made a noise, something different, some kind of cry. Out, in. Ah! Out, in. Keep it up. Fuck that tight, rubber, smooth ass. Do it! Pump again. That's what it was like.

She made another noise, a real cry. "Edward, please!" Don't stop. Finish it! Here it comes. It's coming. Push. Push.

It was as good as it could be. I lay atop her for minutes afterwards, my erection becoming a penis, my penis shrinking, lying there until I was sure I had pumped everything that I had.

*****

"How are you?"

Elizabeth smiled up at me, my Mona Lisa. I could tell she was going to dodge the answer. "Was I okay?"

"You were wonderful." That's my good girl. Keep that attitude.

I was too enervated to think about what I would do to her next time—something exciting, I'm sure—but she turned the tables on me by changing the subject.

"Can I spend the night?"

Oh my! You're learning, aren't you? Quid pro quo. I owe you, don't I? I'm certainly not going to kick you out. I don't want to disappoint you, especially not now. Let's get you a T-shirt and a toothbrush.

The tee hung to Elizabeth's knees. She held her hands like a ballerina and made a pirouette.

"Is Madame ready for a snack?"

She followed me to the bathroom, then out to the kitchen and living room. About halfway out she said "You're it!" and began touching and poking me from behind. I slapped back at her fingers. I intended to lock the door and turn off lamps and close the plantation blinds, but while I did it she poked me again. "You're it!"

It seems, when I think back, that something had changed for her, that she was able to shed her old skin, to be playful with me, to be at home. I wouldn't have expected that, not with her ass chafed by my dick and my semen swimming through her bowels. Not after her sweet submission to my wants. I hadn't expected her to be kittenish, but here she was teasing me. I tried ignoring her, but she grew bolder, so I turned without warning and roared.

She shrieks well.

I was hungry. Well, sure. Sex does that. So I made us a snack of fried egg sandwiches, on a sliced baguette, with mayo, and I found something else had changed. Elizabeth had more appetite. There was no more picking at her food. She finished her sandwich and a tall glass of milk. There was some sliced cantaloupe in the refrigerator, and she ate two slices.

By golly, Miss Elizabeth! Stick with me and you'll gain weight.

After we put the dishes away, she followed right behind me to the bathroom, poking and pinching me, until I turned and roared at her again. She hadn't forgotten how to shriek. In the bathroom, she insisted on our brushing our teeth at the same time, in the single sink. Then to bed.

Let's snuggle down, Elizabeth. I'll lie here quietly, until I'm sure you're asleep and won't be bothered by my leaving. Then I'll read out on the couch.

About a half hour later she said "Edward?" from the bedroom doorway, and I almost jumped. Jesus! She was only half awake, and I was only half a step from a heart attack. "Couldn't you sleep, Edward?"

"I don't sleep very well. I didn't mean to wake you."

She came over and sat beside me, blinking and yawning but not wanting to sleep alone, wanting to be with me. She put a couch pillow on my lap and lay down. Okay. Wriggle around until you get comfortable. I took the afghan from the back of the couch and folded it over her, working downward from her shoulders. I leaned far down to tuck it in around her legs. When I sat back she was smiling up at me. My girl. Never in my life had anyone slept on my lap. You were the first one, Elizabeth. I beeped her nose.