THE BEST
Paul Dale Anderson
Both of us?" He gasped. "Both… at the same time?"
She was already unbuttoning her blouse. "I need to be filled," she said, and there was a longing in her voice that seemed irresistible.
She slid out of the blouse and let it drop to the floor. She reached around and unhooked her brassiere. "I feel so empty," she moaned. "I need to be filled. Fill me, please!"
Gordon glanced nervously at the other man. Was it more than homophobia that edged into his consciousness and made him afraid? Was there something else, too?
Something he didn't want to think about?
"My fantasy," she explained, as she stepped out of an ankle-length wool skirt, "is to have two men inside me. One man is never enough."
She slid panty hose down both legs and stood naked, fully exposed.
She spread her legs and opened her sex.
Two slim lingers disappeared inside.
While two fingers of her left hand toyed with a pointy nipple.
"Indulge my fantasies, and I'll indulge yours," she promised, her voice husky, practically dripping with dew.
"Hell, why not?" the other man said, unzipping his fly. "I'm game."
"What about you?" the girl asked Gordon. "Or aren't you man enough?"
That was the trigger. Gordon shot out of his seat and grabbed the girl's hips, throwing her roughly to the floor, falling atop her, mauling her flesh, slapping her face. He hurriedly fumbled with the front of his pants, got them open somehow, and thrust his rage at her center.
The other man pulled him off.
"I don't like sloppy seconds," he spat at Gordon. "Go play with yourself in the corner while I check her oil, pump the tank full of no-lead premium, and recharge her batteries. You can have what's left as soon as I'm finished."
"Both of you," moaned the girl. "One isn't enough."
The man shoved his dipstick at her wide-open mouth. "Suck it," he demanded. "Prime the pump and see how big it gets. You don't need anyone else."
"No!" Gordon protested as the man's engorged muscle disappeared — one inch at a time — into the damp darkness between her luscious lips.
"Why don't you get lost?" the other man suggested. "Can't you see we're busy?"
Something snapped inside Gordon's head, then, and suddenly he had to prove himself. He had to prove he was bigger and better, not just better than the man she had in her mouth at the moment — but better than any of the other men she had ever had.
Better than them all.
He had to prove that Gordon Sommers was the best.
Nothing else mattered.
Homicide Lieutenant Ralph Bergstrom shook his head sadly. He'd seen it happen before, hadn't he? And he knew he'd see it a thousand times again between now and the day he retired.
"Why'd you do it?" he asked Sommers. "Jealousy?"
"Not jealousy." Gordon sobbed. "It was something else."
"What?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
Gordon Sommers said nothing.
"Okay. Start at the beginning. Where'd you meet this broad?"
"Not a broad, Lieutenant. A lady."
"All right. She was a lady. Where'd you meet her?"
"At the track."
"The race track?"
"Yeah. I'd just placed a big bet at the two-dollar window. I turned around and there she was — the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"Describe her."
"Every man's fantasy come true — big breasts, nice ass, long blond hair, everything you could want in a woman. And she had this look about her that said she was all primed and raring to go."
"Primed?"
"You know. Ready to fuck. Right there in front of God and everybody."
"She looked like a prostitute?"
"No, no. Far from it. Dressed conservatively in an expensive-looking white blouse and ankle-length skirt. She didn't want money. She'd won odds on the last race and she had a roll of two-dollar bills in her hand big enough to choke a horse. Money was the farthest thing from her mind. What she wanted was sex. Pure, unadulterated S-E-X. You could tell just by looking at her. She radiated this sense of desperate urgency — a kind of combined look and smell — that said she needed a man in the worst way."
"And you were that man?"
"I thought so. She caught me staring at her and licked her lips — you know, slowly and seductively: sliding the tip of her tongue around those luscious lips until I thought I'd cream in my pants."
"So you propositioned her?"
"No, no. She propositioned me! She swiveled her hips over next to me and whispered in my ear. 'I bet you want to fuck me, don't you?' she said, 'I want to fuck you, too.'"
"And that's when you gave her the key to your hotel room?"
"Yeah. I knew I could get another key at the front desk."
"What about the victim?"
"Another guy she met at the track. I don't even know his name. She didn't know his name, either."
"Go on."
"She brought him with her. Said she wanted to fuck both of us at the same time. I thought she was kidding, at first. But she wasn't."
"She wanted to get it on with both of you?"
"Yeah. She said one man wasn't enough."
The cop grimaced. How many times had he heard this same story repeated by perps? A hundred times? A thousand?
When would the nightmare end?
Lieutenant Bergstrom stopped by the bar around the corner from the station. He needed a drink — desperately. Hell, he didn't need just a drink. He needed a whole damned bottle.
"Heard you had another one tonight," Earl Danzig said, sidling up to the stool next to Ralph's and signaling the bartender for a Scotch. "Same MO?"
"The same," Bergstrom confirmed.
"Still no leads?"
"None."
"Christ," Danzig said, taking a sip of his fresh Scotch. "What kind of woman is she? Some sort of siren out of Greek mythology? I still can't believe she's real."
"She's real, all right," Ralph said.
"I don't know. Those guys might have made her up."
"All of them?"
"Maybe some kind of mass psychosis. Isn't that what lawyers say when they cop insanity pleas for perps?"
"Look, Earl, I don't want to talk about it. I came here to have a drink and forget."
"Well, if she's real, I'd sure like to meet her. Sounds like every man's wet dream, doesn't she?"
"Shut up, Earl. Shut your fat face."
"Hey. Don't get sore, Ralph. I know you just got married. But that doesn't mean you can't have wet dreams like the rest of us poor slobs. Does it?"
Bergstrom picked up his drink and moved to the other end of the bar — as far away from Danzig as he could get.
Danzig ordered another Scotch. And followed.
"Just think about it, Ralph," Danzig continued, almost drooling. "Here's this gorgeous blonde, built like a brick outhouse, and everyone says she fucks like a mink — never gets enough, always wants more. Don't tell me you wouldn't take a piece of that if you had a chance."
"Get out of my face, Earl. I'm too tired to think about it."
"You getting old, Ralph? That new wife of yours wearing you out? If you can't handle it, old man, just say the word. I'd be willing to help you out in the sack…"
Ralph's fist flew straight for Earl's face. Earl blocked the blow and countered with a quick kick to Ralph's groin.
"Break it up!" the bartender yelled, rushing from behind the bar with a baseball bat in his hands. "Take it outside if you have a score to settle."
" 'S awright," Ralph gasped. "Fight's… over."
"What the fuck got into you?" Earl demanded. "Can't even take a joke anymore, can you? Jesus Christ, Bergstrom. Maybe you are getting old. You okay?"