SHE WAS MAKING a long, loud crunch, every bite she took of the apple. The motion was painfully slow. Her teeth pierced the slick skin and buried themselves in the firm grainy flesh until they struck against the core. Ronny heard the snap as she freed the bite. Then she chewed, and chewed. Her mouth was open. A piece of white pulp dropped from one corner.
He would bet he’d pumped her ten times for every bite, and another ten for the chewing and swallowing. She was sitting back on her heels rocking a little atop him, her weight pressing him down into the mattress. She was looking out the window at the Marlboro ad.
The evening wasn’t going like he’d planned. From the time he saw her pull the apple out of her large gold bag and shine it against her pubic hair, he had an inkling that he wasn’t in control of the situation. Ronny glanced at the other bed. Dan’s whore wasn’t eating an apple. Dan’s whore wasn’t looking out the window. They’d both paid the same. Ronny knew he was going to hear the incident repeated later, always.
He stopped thinking about it and let his mind move down to the spot where their bodies were mashed together. Round peg in the square hole. He felt the warmth gathering. It spread over his thighs and stomach, and a shudder took hold. A sound pushed up from deep inside him. “Umph.” He checked to see if Dan was watching, but all Ronny could see was the outline of muscular thighs and ass pumping strong over the girl on all fours.
Ronny’s girl dropped her apple core onto his abdomen. It rolled to his sunken navel. “Time to git goin,” she said. She lifted her solid chunk of a leg across his body, stepping down to the floor. He remembered how pretty she’d looked when he spotted her standing in the moving shadows of the palm on U.S. 1 in Fort Lauderdale. Her long carroty hair, the color his mother’s had been, was looped around her left hand to keep it from blowing. Her right hand moved a cigarette away from her lips like Bette Davis.
She stooped, found her panties in the dim light from the window, and stepped into them, dimpled buttocks grazing his shoulder. Sometimes in the movies a whore fell in love with her customer. She would see beyond the silly imperfections that put other women off, to the caring human being underneath. He guessed it wasn’t going to work for him this time.
He picked up the apple core and nibbled idly as he looked over at the other bed. Dan’s muscular form moved in push-ups against his girl, and she kept the rhythm. His hips hit hers with a sweaty smacking sound. She sucked in breath and let it out in a hoarse growl.
The next morning at work, Ronny stood in the filtered sun under the mango tree and flicked some sawdust from his moustache, thinking about the night before. He wanted to forget it. He wanted a change in his life, a steady girl, somebody to do regular things, like read the comics to him and tell him fondly when his zipper was down or he had a splatter of spaghetti sauce on his chin. He was always being teased, as if he was the only one who ever did something silly. He heard Dan’s voice coming from the branches above him.
“Hey, Buddy, if you don’t have any plans, you could come along on the boat Sunday.” Dan paused to tighten the blade on the chainsaw. “Tina’s sister just moved down. You could be her date.”
“Sure. I’ll go. Sure, man. I always like to go on the boat.” He decided he was going to play it cool, but already he could feel the excitement building for meeting the new woman.
The chainsaw started up and Dan dropped a heavy limb. It came crashing through the lower branches and landed at Ronny’s feet. It sounded like sea spray. He pictured a tan, wet body. Two small branches dropped to his left, and a log clipped his right shoulder on its way to the ground. The whine stopped. “Think you can handle it?”
“Sure,” he said and brushed dirt from his shoulder. He wasn’t certain whether Dan meant the big branch or the date. “No problem.” He grabbed an end and began dragging the limb toward the chipper. “What’s she look like?” he yelled up. The saw started again and he could hear its scream as it nipped off more branches, and the rustle, like spray, as they fell through the live canopy and hit the ground.
He made five more trips to the tree and back to the chipper, but the saw never stopped its scream long enough for him to get in a word. He decided it didn’t matter. He was standing near the trunk looking up at the V-shaped crotch where Dan was ready to make the next cut to sear off a log the size of a man’s thigh. He saw him jerk his head to the side to get a clear view below.
“Christsakes, man, I told you not to stand under the tree when I’m dropping branches,” he yelled. “Quit dreamin’ – you’re going to get your fucking head knocked off.”
“Sorry, thought you were finished. I was wondering, how old is –?”
Dan was jerking at the cord to start the saw again and Ronny quickly moved out to the perimeter of the tree. A branch ricocheted and landed behind him. What difference did it make? He’d go anyway.
He chipped the thin branches while Dan stacked the log. He flinched every time he fed a slender branch into the hungry machine. It sucked in the stems and slivered them with the ease of chopping ripe bananas. He feared the power that could suck him in just as smoothly, the searing pain on his tender limbs. He stared fascinated into the chute trying to see the cutting edge as it came around, but it was a whirling blur.
“Here, catch,” Dan yelled and flung a mango at him. It was part of Ronny’s job to pick up all the smashed fruit. He stuck out his left hand to grab it, but missed. It hit his belt buckle and bounced off, rolling a few feet until it rested against a root. He bent and picked it up. Still good. Just one small bite gone – probably a squirrel or a rat got at it. He unclipped the Swiss Army Knife from his belt loop and peeled away the tough green skin. He opened his jaws wide and cut his teeth into the orange flesh. The sweet piney juice ran down his chin and onto the neck of his tee-shirt. He thought of a girl’s sweet lips.
They finished the job before lunch, and would have been done sooner, if Ronny hadn’t laid the keys in to grass and caused a twenty-minute search.
On Saturday he went to Sears to get a new pair of bathing trunks. He wanted a loose, comfortable pair, something dark so the tar wouldn’t show when he went to the beach, but the clerk suggested a bright green “lycra sling”. It was cut low and would fit snug to his body. “You’re lean,” the salesman told him. “You can wear something stylish.” Gangling was the word his mother had always used to describe him. He guessed it was about the same thing. He fingered the slinky fabric. Thirty dollars was a lot, but this was for a special day.
When Tina introduced them at the dock, he saw right away why Crystal had come to Florida to stay with her sister. She had an inch of stitches beneath her blackened left eye and a bruise on her cheek the color and size of an immature eggplant, light purple fading to green around the edges.
“Her old man gave her a couple of hard shots when she left,” Dan told him as they took turns stepping over the rail, down into the white glare of the twenty-foot open fisherman. “He drinks, hits her.”
“The son-of-a-bitch won’t beat on me again,” she said. She pointed her finger down at Ronny to make the point before she stepped next to him. He felt a warmth toward her, wanted to hold her. The two of them could face the world together.
He looked at the other side of her face. She was a pretty girl, short, dark like Tina, nice skin, a Sophia Loren type. Probably around his age too, twenty-eight to thirty. He looked down – big tits. I’ve got a chance with a nice girl, he thought.
The ocean was flat and they headed out a few miles to the weed line to fish. The women sunbathed. Ronny and Dan got a few bites, but no keepers. They smoked a couple joints, worked through a case of beer. Ronny couldn’t think of much to say to Crystal, but she smiled and nodded when he asked her if she needed a beer or passed her a joint. She gave him the second half of her crab salad sandwich.
After lunch Ronny put the used napkins and empty wrappings into a trash bag. Dan stood watching him. “I knew there was something funny, but I just couldn’t figure it out,” Dan said. He laughed. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
Tina and Crystal stared at Ronny. He stared down at himself. He couldn’t see anything humorous. There was no zipper, just a little bagginess in front. “I know I’m lean,” he said and laughed, “but it’s in style.”
“I see it. I see it,” Tina yelled. “He’s got his trunks on backwards.” She and Dan began to laugh like idiots.
“I wondered why there was so much extra fabric,” Crystal said. She sipped from her can and giggled. Suddenly a spray of beer exploded from her mouth and she doubled down to the deck snorting and choking. Ronny stepped up and leaped over the side. He swam around behind the boat. As he held onto the small wooden dive platform and pulled out his legs to switch the suit, he wondered what were the chances of a barracuda nipping off his dick. It could only happen to me, he thought. He watched the tender flesh waving weightless below the surface until he pulled up the trunks.
After several hours, Dan suggested that they stop at a bar along the water to have a few drinks and get something for dinner on the way in. Tina agreed.
“Yes, let’s go somewhere dark and cool,” said Crystal. “I’ve had enough sun.”
“Me too,” Ronny said. He pulled out the front of his trunks and saw the clean pink line against the white stomach skin, like an Easter egg half-dipped in rose tint.
The girls walked on ahead. Dan put down the bumpers and tied the lines. He and Ronny pulled on tee-shirts and walked into The Sand Bar. The place was dim with smudgy porthole windows and dark paneling. The cold, dry air brought up gooseflesh on Ronny’s stinging arms as he headed toward the back end of the bar, but he spotted Crystal with an empty stool next to her, and he felt great.
He sat down on the padded plastic stool facing the mirror. He could see the reflection of his thin face framed by bottles of bourbon and gin that sparkled in the scant light, and for a second, he felt he was in a movie. Crystal sat down to his left, and put her cool fingers on his sunburnt thigh. She was drunk and high, but even so, he couldn’t believe it. Dan and Tina were sitting a few stools away since the bar was crowded. He wished Dan could see Crystal’s hand.
“Did you get any sunburn?” he asked her. He used the question as an excuse to brush her thigh like butterfly wings with his fingertips. A few pubic hairs had strayed from the crotch of her suit.
“I don’t think so,” she said, “but that sure felt good.” She leaned over and kissed him on the side of his neck. He jerked, but recovered immediately and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. She started walking the fingers of her left hand from his knee toward his thigh. The goosebumps were really standing up. He leaned forward, enjoying the sensation, his arms crossed on the edge of the bar. Suddenly he felt a jolt run through his frame. She was headed for his dick in front of twenty people at nearby tables.
“Stand up closer to the bar,” Crystal said. “I’m going to make you feel real good.” She stuck her index and middle fingers under the edge of the green slinky fabric at his groin. He jumped up and mashed his gut into the bar top.
“I don’t think you should do this,” he said, standing, looking around, trying to appear casual. “Somebody will see.” Dan and Tina were absorbed in conversation down the bar.
“Just keep quiet,” she said. “Stand close. Most men like when I do it.”
By this time she had her thumb and index finger curled around his penis outside his trunks, working up and down. He liked it all right, not only because it felt so good, but because it was her idea. He started to relax his posture.
“You’re huge,” she said. He could see her elbow moving up and down under the smooth wood overhang of the bar. He was frightened that someone would see, but he couldn’t make himself stop her. He watched his face in the mirror – no one would notice a little shallow breathing. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he whispered. She stopped moving her hand and held still with her tits mashed hard into his side. He tried to keep his face calm in the mirror. He saw his lips open slightly and the corner of his mouth pull downward.
“Jesus,” she said.
“Umph.” He came and came, all over inside the bright green lycra.
“Shit. You’re just a big kid. I swear.” She looked between his legs at the suit. “Jesus. You weren’t supposed to come. We were just playing.”
“I didn’t know.”
Crystal looked away and lit up a cigarette. Ronny tugged down the T-shirt to cover the dark splotch and walked to the men’s room. He heard laughter behind him.
When Dan said it was time to go, Crystal walked out in front of Ronny while he tugged down on his T-shirt trying to cover the dark splotch on the front of his suit. He heard some laughter behind him.
“I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” he said when they got back to the parking lot by the dock. “I shouldn’t have –”
She shrugged. “Forget it.”
“I mean I really – ”
“Shut up about it.”
He decided not to try for a kiss. “Can I call you sometime?”
“Yeah. I guess.” She turned and got into the truck beside Tina. Ronny’s face spread out in a big grin.
“I don’t think my sister wants to talk to you,” Tina said, when he called up the next night. “She’s going back with her husband. He drove all the way down to see her.”
“Dan didn’t mention it at work,” Ronny said.
“He just got here an hour ago.”
He hung his head forward and expelled some air that made his lips puff out. “Well, you tell her to give me a call if she changes her mind,” he said.
“I sure will, Ron. I’m sorry you two didn’t hit it off.”
He lay on his stomach on the linoleum in front of the TV. A nature show came on, an underwater habitat. He’d seen it a million times. A pitiful hermit crab was nibbling at a fish head left by a barracuda who’d sliced it off below the gills and swam away to digest the prime parts. The announcer was talking about the cruel competitive world under the sea. The passive and gentle creatures didn’t have a chance at live prey. They had to feed on the leftovers that drifted their way.
He lunged to his feet from the floor and nearly fell back down. He had to do something. He steadied himself against the wall. He had to find himself a woman.
Dan passed his fries down to Ronny at lunch the next day. “Eat, eat.” It was a sort of joke between them, how Ronny could never get filled up.
“No, thanks,” he said. “I still have some of my own.” He was thinking of his plan.
He began to relax in the dark coolness of the tavern and he leaned on his forearms on the smooth lacquered bar. “How do you put an ad in the Herald?” he asked, lapping his bottom lip over the fringe of his moustache to suck off the beads of ketchup. He knew Dan used ads for his tree service.
“You call ’em up and send a check. Why? You trying to sell something?”
“No, I’ve got some kittens. A mother left babies under my trailer.” He didn’t worry about the lie. Dan would never ask to see them.
“Just drop ’em at the Humane Society. They’ll take care of it.”
“No, I want to give them a chance at a home first.”
“I think it’s useless, but you gotta do what’ya gotta do,” said Dan. Dan got him the number from the truck. Ronny went right back into the men’s room to call. He told the woman he wanted to put an ad in the “Person-to-Person” section of the Sunday magazine.
“I can’t take it over the phone. Too many mistakes. Write it out and send it with your check,” she told him. “If you get it in the mail tomorrow, it’ll be in the paper on Sunday. Be sure to print.”
That evening he studied the personal ads from the last Sunday. Shit. He hadn’t even thought about what to say. His spelling was terrible, and so was his handwriting. What could he tell about himself? What did he seek?
“Marlboro man seeks female for . . .” He looked around the room. His eyes stopped on a pillow he’d thrown on the couch. “. . . comfortable . . . relationship.” He looked at his swim trunks hanging on the doorknob. I am a tall, lean, stylish, employed gentleman, age 29, interested in water sports.” No, no watersports this time. He ran the nail of his middle finger between his two front teeth. He tasted ketchup from lunch. “. . . dining.” It sounded good. He tried to print clearly.
He needed a few more words to fill out his minimum and get his money’s worth. “Looking for another of similar tastes. Send note and photo.” He wrote it out quickly. “Not bad. Not bad,” he said out loud as he slipped it and the check into the prepared envelope.
The rest of the week he had trouble concentrating on dragging branches and chipping. He kept thinking of his message on its journey from post office to newspaper to a beautiful, sweet, sophisticated woman. Twice he pushed the shovel too far into the chute of the chipper and it hit the blade, causing him to jump at the loud noise and nearly drop in the shovel. Dan came running from the tree thinking he’d swan his arm off, or worse, broken something.
“You must need to get laid, buddy,” Dan said on Friday, “You know, an apple a day.” He chuckled.
“Yeah, fuck you, man.” He didn’t want to hear about it. He knocked the safety glasses off his forehead and into the chipper. They became splinters in barely a screech.
He was up at four that Sunday when the paper was delivered and ran outside in his jockey shorts to get it. He flung it to the floor and plopped down to whip through the sections, not noticing the headlines, not glancing at the comics. Finally, he found the magazine and turned to the “Person-to-Person” pages. Where was it? Where? Where?
It was there. In the middle column, toward the bottom. He read it over. “. . . comfortable relationship . . . tall, lean, employed . . . interested in dining. Looking for a mother of similar tastes.”
“A mother?” he said aloud. “A mother!” They fucked it up. Jesus, what now? Why always him?
The next morning he got on the phone while Dan was in the Seven-Eleven. No time for Twinkies. He had serious business with that newspaper woman.
“I have your ad right here in my hand,” she said. “It’s not our fault. If that’s supposed to be an n, it has too many humps, and I can see a separation between the two characters. You have a combination of script and block.
“What can I do to fix it?”
“It’s too late now. You can write a new ad for next week or just wait and see what happens. You still might get a response that fills your needs.”
He was amazed by the number of letters and photos he got in the first week after the ad came out. Each day after work he picked two or three envelopes from his mailbox. He’d never gotten so much mail before, and despite the mistake, he was enjoying the popularity. There were perfumed notes on expensive looking stationery and interesting close-written letters on lined school paper. The photos were fifty-cent booth shots, polaroids, even professional shots with the company name in gold imprinted on the bottom, like graduation pictures, except all of the women were way past graduation. He decided to keep the mail together so he could study the faces and compare their statements. He wrapped the packet in foil and put it in the freezer. He didn’t want any of his bar buddies to see it, especially Dan, if he happened to come around. Ronny hadn’t seen much of him outside of work since that Sunday on the boat. Tina was taking up more of Dan’s time.
On the ninth day he only got one letter, and one more on day twelve. He set the weekend aside to choose. It wasn’t difficult. Most of them were old. Old enough to be my mother, he thought, and laughed. A few were too intellectual for him, three school teachers, a nurse. Others just didn’t appeal to him because of their starchy hair or heavy make-up. His mother hadn’t worn any make-up and he’d never gotten used to it.
Two women were fine. Although their looks were opposite in coloring, he liked them both. And both were secretaries, probably not too smart for him or too controlling. He didn’t want to be “pussy-whipped”, as Dan would say. Neither seemed much older than he was. Their names were Jane and Martha.
He phoned Jane first because her letter came first, but he never could reach her, even trying at different hours of the day and night. He wondered why someone would reply to an ad and then leave town or move. It worried him, but there was still Martha. She answered on the first ring.
“Hello. Dinkelacker residence.” Her voice was deep and a little husky. She sounded gruff and businesslike. Nothing wrong with that.
“This is Ronny,” he said, “from the ‘Personals”.
“I don’t buy intimate apparel over the telephone,” she said flatly.
“No, this is Ronny Magee. You sent me a letter and your picture – the ad in the Herald.”
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “I’m so happy you called,” Her voice became as sweet as he expected it to. “When can we meet?”
The receiver pressed against his cheek as he grinned. He was sick of pot pies and doing his own laundry, and most of all he wanted a nice soft breast to cuddle up to at night. He was the only man he knew who’d never had a live-in girlfriend. Suddenly it seemed possible.
They arranged to meet at the supermarket on Singles Night. He’d gone to the event before and come home disappointed, but this time he had a date. His luck was changed. He suggested meeting in the meat department. She said she would like to cook dinner for their first night. “We can pick out a roast together,” she said. They talked for three hours about their likes and dislikes, their favorite meats, vegetables, desserts. They finally settled on a beef tenderloin. Ronny wasn’t sure why he picked it – he’d never had it before.
After two more hours on the phone, he knew everything important about her. She had a house and enjoyed cooking. He was ready for love.
That evening he wore a new pair of jeans and his plaid Western shirt with the mother-of-pearl snaps. He felt good, on target. He strode down the bright dairy aisle without even stopping for a sample of Colby cheese with jalapeno. He took a direct left to the meat cooler that ran across the rear of the store. From fifty feet off, Ronny recognized the solid middle-aged woman, although she was probably twenty years older than her picture. Her hair was soft and long, but had streaks of iron gray on the sides. She wore a dark skirt and a loose cotton blouse. She was looking into the meat case. He turned and walked back up the dairy aisle.
“Have a sample, Sir? It’s very good.”
He reached over the tray, took the cracker, and pitched it into his mouth. He paused to chew. Maybe he should go back and meet Martha Dinkelacker. He grabbed another cracker. After all, they’d planned to have a meal. He didn’t want to leave her standing there picking out meat all night, and he was starved.
He stepped up and introduced himself. She looked happy to see him. She had a pretty smile, even for late forties, and nice white teeth, full lips, teasing eyes.
She had already chosen a tenderloin. Potatoes and corn on the cob were also in her basket.
“I bet you like your brownies without nuts,” she said, after he’d introduced himself. “Just like my Johnny.” She was comparing him to the son she’d mentioned on the phone, who was now working on an oil rig off the coast of Norway.
“Let’s get it straight right off,” Ronny said, “The ‘mother’ in the ad was a mistake. I don’t need a mother at all, just a regular relationship.”
“Sure, Babe. Whatever you want.” She tilted her head to the side and took a long look at him. He decided he liked the gutsy sound of her voice.
They dated every night for six weeks, Martha showed him how to live. She taught him to like wine, took him to foreign films, bought him vitamins. Ronny was finally getting the things everyone else took for granted, except for sex – he was worried about that. She had removed his hands from her breasts the only time he’d dared put them there. He knew her husband had left her. Maybe sex was a problem.
He spent many evenings in her tidy home, comfortably resting his head in her lap, his long legs curled up to fit on her embroidered sofa, watching television until it was time to go home. He thought of asking Dan about it, but the chance never came up.
“You have to try these,” Martha said one evening and pointed to a tray of crushed ice, covered with rows of slick gray clumps in rough irregular shells. She’d ordered the oysters especially for him from the raw bar. He’d never even looked at one up close before. He’d rather have had the little cocktail dogs in barbeque sauce, but Martha said he ought to try new things. They were sipping wine and watching Body Heat, sitting on the carpet next to her heavy antique coffee table. It was her favourite film.
“Now see,” she said, and she squeezed a wedge of lemon over one of the slimey blobs and followed it with a dot of horseradish. She stabbed it with the tiny three pronged fork and headed it toward his mouth. “Open up, here it comes.”
He opened, then closed. “I can’t,” he said, and closed his mouth again tightly. She stopped the motion of her arm and the oyster slipped off and plopped onto his thigh just below the edge of his shorts, as he sat cross-legged. It slipped down and caught in the gap of the leg near his crotch. It was icy.
She clicked her tongue. “Now be a good boy, Babe. Martha knows what’s best for you.” She bent forward and slurped between his groin and the fabric. He felt her warm tongue lap against his skin. It lapped again, again. A tingle turned to pressure that he could feel hard against the inside of his pants. “Delicious, delicious,” she said as she raised up and chewed.
She bent forward again and aimed her face at the same spot. “You’re a big boy.” She nuzzled and licked.
“Whew,” he said. “Oooh . . . Ouch.” She’d bitten him in the tender skin of his inner thigh. “Ouch.” She bit him again. “That hurts.” She took the advantage of his mouth hanging open, grabbed an oyster with her fingers and popped it in.
“You love it,” she said. She was on top of him immediately and covered his mouth with hers forcing the oyster farther back with her tongue. He swallowed. He gathered saliva and swallowed again to wash away the slimey tang. She got up and pulled him by the belt and he stumbled along dazed behind her.
She undressed him on her antique-style waterbed and pressed him down into the flowered waves. She opened her soft cotton dress and put a large dark nipple to his lips, guiding his hand down into her thick pubic hair. He noticed her muscular arms as she stroked his forehead. She bent her neck to kiss his eyes. Then she moved down and bit his neck. It didn’t hurt too much.
“Stay still,” she whispered, and she lowered herself onto his hard cock. She pinned his wrists above his head and pumped him hard and fast and long.
The next morning he told Dan about her.
“She’s a little older,” he said, “but we have all the same interests. And she cooks as well as my mother.” He took a breath. “I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“I don’t know, Buddy. Are you sure this is what you want?” Dan asked.
“I sure am happy.”
“Maybe you should wait a while, live together. I’ve been living with Tina for six months and I still don’t know if it would work for a marriage.”
“I don’t think so. Not with Martha. I better do it now.”
The next day he asked Martha to marry him. She suggested a no frills wedding at the courthouse on the following weekend. He moved out of the trailer and into her home among the dark antiques and jangling chimes.
A few months later, Dan and Tina were over for Sunday dinner. “I’m proud of you, man,” Dan said after they had finished eating a pile of Martha’s pasta and clam sauce. He motioned toward the kitchen where Martha and Tina were doing dishes. “You got everything you could want – a nice house, a good cook, a warm waterbed. Martha’s a good woman. I used to wonder what might happen to you, but you’ve got it made, buddy.”
“She’s a little rough sometimes,” he said.
Dan shrugged. “PMS.”
Ronny wanted to mention a couple of slaps Martha had given him, and the bites, but before he could say anything more, she walked out of the kitchen drying her hands on a towel. “You boys ready for dessert?”
“Strawberry shortcake,” Ronny said to Dan, lifting his eyebrows. He licked his lips at Martha and she smiled.
He crawled into bed early that night after the huge meal. The sun was still setting, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Suddenly he felt a burning crack at the back of his thighs. It was Martha with his belt. He knew he’d done something, but he didn’t know what. She came around to the other side of the bed and went for the insides of his thighs. He rolled onto his stomach to protect his genitals. She didn’t stop. “You’re a bad boy,” she yelled.
He flung himself to the upper corner of the waterbed where she had difficulty reaching him. “Get your ass over here.” He cringed as he looked at her. Her eyes were squinted and her hair caught light from the sunset and glowed red in a fringe around her face, like a crown of lightning. She threw her arms and torso down on the bed and began to make waves, bouncing him again and again, striking his head against the antique headboard until his skull throbbed and his cut scalp stung.
When she stopped he shrank into a tight ball. He heard the belt drop and Martha crawled slowly toward him on the bed. Her robe hung open and he focused on the brown nipples, almost the size of saucers, until he was buried in her warmth and opened his mouth wide to take her in.
It would happen again and again and again, he knew it, the hurricane in the waterbed – he didn’t understand it, but he knew it. Dan would say leave her. Dan would say there are plenty of women. Ronny nuzzled and sucked harder at the soft, sweet skin of Martha’s breast, and she lowered her wet slit on his cock, huge and sensitive with the blood of pain and passion. A thought came to him through his clouded mind – he didn’t have to tell Dan, or anyone.