“I can’t solve all your problems for you,” Liberty told me huffily.
On the face of it, her suggestion seemed just as impractical as my previous plan. Nevertheless, I gave it some thought. There was no way to get at that button with fingers or toes, knees or nose. It was in proximity to only one part of my anatomy. Despondently, I glanced down at my flacid penis resting on the table only an inch or so from the phone’s pushbuttons. Right about then, I’d gladly have swapped it for a pinky finger. Useless damn thing!
Or was it?
Eureka!
My heart beating faster with hope, I studied the distance between its tip and the pushbuttons. Yes! Tumescent, it should definitely reach! I passed this information on to Liberty and explained what I had in mind.
“You sure you’re not being overoptimistic?” she inquired.
That hurt. She of all people should have known better. She’d certainly had ample opportunity to judge for herself when we’d made love back in the woods.
“We’ll see,” I told her stiffly. The stiffness, however, wasn’t matched below the waist.
“I don’t see anything!” Liberty remarked after a couple of minutes.
“I’m trying.”
“Well, try harder.”
“I need inspiration.”
“That’s pretty damn insulting!” she told me hotly. “I’m sitting here mother-naked with my legs spread, and you can’t find inspiration? Why don’t you admit you just can’t cut the mustard?”
“I never had this problem before.”
“That’s what they all say!”
“Well, I can’t help it. It’s been an exhausting night. It’s been hard on my nervous system.”
“Better it should be hard on your you-know-what. I should have expected this,” she sighed. “One of my psych courses in college, they said some degree of impotency is just about universal with white men.”
“That’s a racist remark!”
“Complain to the NAACP.” She shrugged.
“Listen, we can’t afford to argue,” I reminded her. “I’m not just out to prove my manhood. Both our lives are at stake. We’ve got to cooperate.”
“I guess you’re right.” Liberty softened. “But what do you want me to do?”
“Try being seductive instead of antagonistic.”
“I can’t move. How can I be seductive?”
“Talk sexy. Maybe that will help.”
“All right.” She took a deep breath and started talking. Her voice was low, warm, throaty, crooning, filled with sensuality. “Let me tell you about me and Phoebe Phreeby,” she began. “We were more than just friends. I guess I was pretty naive when I went to work in the Darnell Public Library. I’d had experiences with men, but they were pretty limited. I didn’t even know that it was possible for two women to . . .”
Listening hard, my eyes wandered over Liberty’s body as she continued speaking. Her breathing was already quickening with the reminiscence, the firm black flesh of her breasts seeming to ripple as she sucked in air and exhaled. It was warm, and a small trickle of perspiration formed an arrow leading to the deep, dark cleavage of her bosom. As she talked, the high-pointing purple nipples hardened and lengthened, and the perfect red circles around them became perceptibly wider.
“. . . Phoebe Phreeby was one of the most attractive girls I ever met,” Liberty was saying now. “She was tall, like me, and we were pretty much the same size. We used to wear each other’s clothes. Still, there were differences. Her breasts, for instance. They were as large as mine, but they were shaped differently. Pointier, not as round, more like ice-cream cones. And they were more widely separated; you could see the space between; the cleavage wasn’t hidden like mine is. Her nipples were a very light, delicate shade of pink, large and always very soft, even when she got excited. And there were no aureoles around them at all. . . .”
My eyes were on the area below Liberty’s flat belly now. Looking at the triangle of glossy curls, I was remembering how fine and soft-—like fur—-it was to the touch. The manner in which the coffee table was wedged under her bottom had thrust her mons veneris upward prominently. Even normally, the mound was carried high on her groin, plump and cleanly cleft. In this, position the purplish lips were wide apart, the red clitty clearly visible. I could see the moistness beginning to gather there as she described Phoebe Phreeby; I remembered how warm and syrupy it was.
“. . . generally sleeker than my body is. Phoebe was more slim-hipped, her legs longer perhaps, and more tapered. On the other hand, her ass was larger; it stuck out more in back; she couldn’t keep it from bouncing when she moved. Her hair was a glorious shade of red, and she wore it long and loose. Her complexion was that translucent shade of white that only true redheads seem to have; it was the perfect contrast to mine. There was a sprinkling of freckles—hardly noticeable at all —across the bridge of her nose. Her face was heart- shaped, the cheekbones high, the eyes wide, their color either blue or green, depending on what she was wearing, or the lighting, or sometimes just her mood. But most of all, I remember her mouth. . . .”
My own eyes were closed now. I was envisioning Phoebe Phreeby as Liberty recalled her. I was imagining that mouth, with its pronounced red lips, its dewy warmth, its perpetual pout and small, sharp, talented tongue. I was seeing the two girls as they were that first time when Phoebe seduced Liberty.
“. . . I was sleeping over at her apartment,” Liberty said. “We’d had a few drinks before going to bed. I remember Phoebe lent me this white silk nightie, short and semitransparent. Hers was short too, green nylon, and very low-cut. I could feel the heat of her body when she climbed into bed with me. . . .”
I was aware of a growing tumescence as I listened, my eyes still closed. It was our one chance to save ourselves! I thrust the awareness from my mind. I had to concentrate on the scene Liberty’s words were building on the screen behind my eyelids.
“. . . thought it was an accident when Phoebe’s hand pressed down on my breast. But it stayed there. Her fingers caressed my nipples with a light, delicate touch. Of course, then I knew it was no accident. But I’d had those drinks, and it felt so good, and I didn’t really want her to stop. . . .”
Hanging on her words, I watched the screen. Red hair swirled around ivory shoulders, trailing over white skin and aroused black flesh. Phoebe’s pout-mouth went to the pulse at the base of the ebony column of Liberty’s neck. It stayed there a long time. Liberty squirmed. Her nipples grew hard. Purple tips and red aureoles were revealed clearly, straining against the white silk of the nightie.
Phoebe pulled back and hovered over Liberty. The sharp bullets of her breasts spilled out over the top of the low-cut green nightgown she wore. She took one of them in her hand, bent lower, and guided it so that the butter-soft pink nipple moved back and forth over one of Liberty’s long, erect purple breast tips where it distended the white silk.
Liberty gasped. Her body was on fire. Unthinkingly, her arms stretched out and her hands clasped around the back of Phoebe’s neck. She pulled her down so that their breasts were crushed together, nipple to nipple, with only the flimsy white silk between.
Phoebe kissed her on the lips then. At first she was gentle. But soon her darting tongue became quite bold, entwining with Liberty’s, flicking unexpectedly to provide one thrill after another. By the time the kiss was over, both girls were panting.
So was I. But I had to be sure. I needed the absolute maximum length. I couldn’t take a chance on acting prematurely and losing the erection. I kept my eyes shut tight and continued to listen.
“. . . can’t convey how exciting it was. Really, it takes a woman to really know just how and where to touch another woman. And Phoebe had had lots of experience. Plus the fact that it was taboo, which made i1 even more thrilling. It makes me hot just to talk about it. Her hands, her mouth, the heat of her flesh . . .”