"I-I'll take that handkerchief now, Jerry," she half-whispered, her exposed naked body revealed to him, her full, pointed breasts rising and falling in the aftermath of her tremendous orgasm.
He looked at the way she was kneeling up straight before him, her sultry green eyes level with his in an unashamed, open expression as they reached his own. He knew then that she wanted him to be unashamed, too! Man, she was some girl, all right… the kind a guy could fall ass over tea-kettle in love with! She was beautiful… all of her… every inch…!
"The handkerchief, darling?" she repeated, smiling slightly with lips glistening with his very own jism! Clumsily, he fumbled with his lowered pants, trying to get into a pocket, then handing it to her.
She stood and drew Jay's jacket around her once more, brushing at her lips with the boy's handkerchief, a thousand thoughts still fierily racing through her mind. At last, she said: "My husband is due home any second, darling. But there'll be other times… won't there?"
"I… I hope so," the young teenager stammered, his clothes straightened.
She tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket, then leaned close, kissing him on the mouth. "Our secret, Jerry darling…?" she throatily whispered.
"Yeah… you bet it is, Mrs… Beth!" he answered, suddenly looking very tall and broad to her… yes, and quite proud as he smiled back before going out the door.
It occurred to her then that she'd just made a man of a boy…!
CHAPTER FOUR
It rarely happened, but on occasion Jay Robert Durke, novelist, hit a stumbling block in his work. These snags were not necessarily the same as might befall a writer in some other field, the big, bearded man realized, but they were his particular plaque. After all, just how many sensual scenes could one describe without being repetitious? Not that his lust imagination fell short in the erotic department, but there were times when even he couldn't catch the feel of a needed, sexy sequence, especially if Sara Wilson wasn't out in her yard pruning or weeding in her next-to-nothing bikini to inspire him.
In the absence of their vivacious, raven-haired young neighbor's stimulating curves to fire him, the prolific author usually resorted to his "research" file, a locked metal drawer filled with obscene photos and literature of the rankest intensity. There was a certain drawback to this method, however, for once involved in his research department, he invariably found himself lusting like a goat, with mental visions of Sara Wilson passionately begging him to act out the particular picture with her. He had never stopped to estimate the time lost to these lecherous musings, convinced that though non-profitable, it was time well spent. They not only worked him into the proper frame of mind for creating, but they did hellish fine things for his restless ego.
To Jay Durke, Sara was the epitome of a profoundly sensual woman. Not that his own Beth didn't have all the physical qualifications, even more so than Sara… Christ, there was a girl with a body that wouldn't quit… but what good was that if you didn't know how to use it…? And there was no doubt in his mind but what Stan Wilson's luscious little honeypot would be a wildcat in bed! Of course, there was always the chance that the old shoe salesman didn't know the first thing about getting the most out of her, which was usually the trouble with those Greek-God types, and maybe that was why she liked to get out in the yard and do her thing for him in that Goddamned tantalizing bikini of hers.
In his lifetime, he'd never seen a doll squirm and squat into such hot-nuts positions as she could manage right there in her front yard. Maybe she didn't have the quantity of voluptuous curves which Beth owned, but they were damned sure of the same quality. Shit, he could almost feel the firm smoothness of her softly rounded tit right in his hot hand, and she had one of the most inviting, tightest-looking little asses swelling out that yellow bikini bottom he'd ever laid eyes on. But getting at it… her… was a horse of another color.
Sure as hell, the big, bearded writer was convinced, she wasn't out there every day displaying her wares without something in mind. She damned sure wasn't doing it for Beth's or Vickie Davis' sake, and there was no one else around to see her but him! And those ball-tingling, lewd stances she strained to get into, bending over straight-legged with her tautly ovalled ass cheeks smack dab facing his study window, the shadow of their separating crevice faintly visible to him through the tight, thin material! Or stooped and faced him until her white young tits nearly popped out of their wispy halter! But best of all was the squat, with knees widespread so that he could actually see the outline of her puffy little cunt all snug and mouth watering up there between her shapely legs, even without his field glasses! What the hell, there was no doubt about it, the impish little bitch was actually giving him the old come on!
It figured in Jay's thinking, as he sat behind his desk watching through the window into her front yard, that old Stan didn't have the wherewithal to take care of his little hot-assed petunia, but there just happened to be a stud in the neighborhood who could… namely Jay Durke! He grinned in lustful confidence to himself! About three-fourths of his long, thick cock buried between those soft thighs ought to do the job right to perfection for her, as Beth could well tell her, except those things just weren't done outside the realm of his novels. Now, he sniggered under his breath. There'd been a reason for his escorting of Beth on her shoe shopping tour yesterday. Once he'd learned she was going to Wilson's, the possibility that he might break the ice between them and get things on a little more neighborly basis, had occurred to him, and he felt certain it'd worked.
Hell, and why wouldn't it? Everybody liked to brag about knowing a selling author by first name. Jay supposed it gave the poor slobs an elated feeling of contact with the creative and celebrity world, which was okay with him. He was no puffed up swell head just because he'd tasted success! He knew what it was to be just an ordinary, everyday grinder like Wilson, and unless he missed his guess, his neighbor would be knocking himself out shortly to invite Beth and him to dinner or something. That, of course, had been, and was, exactly what he was counting on to get next to sweet-assed little Sara. He just hoped she'd use her head and play it cool in front of Beth. His possessive blonde wife might not take kindly to the raven-haired minx making a play for her lover-man. Nothing was worth lousing it up between Beth and him; she was a real baby-doll, and he knew she was nuts over him, just as he was all gone on her.
If only she could get a little more with it in the old sack? Oh, she always got hot enough at the kickoff, but he knew without asking her that she couldn't cum, which was nothing but failing to throw her beautiful ass into it full-fledged. But if that's the way she wanted it, he wasn't going to complain. The luscious creature had everything else in the world going for her, and he knew what his offered security meant to her. Hell, she'd latched onto him in Chicago like a preying tigress, letting him know how it was with her by spreading those pretty legs the very first night. Christ, how she'd whimpered and squirmed, and how he'd socked the old cock to her… until she'd just lain there half crying and laughing when it was over, she was so happy. Well, that's the way it should be right from the beginning, the way he always told it in his stories, and he could damned well remember how jubilant he'd been just to see her sincere happiness, after twenty five years of paying to bed apple eating whores.