The thunderclap made her jump again and he chuckled.
“Don't be scared. You're so beautiful,” he told her, kissing her on the hair.
“No. I'm not."
“You know what you really are?"
“Huh?"
“I tell you no lie, Princess Di. You're fucking drop-dead beautiful!” And that broke him up and he laughed with joy. “That's it, darling. Drop-dead beautiful!” He kissed her through the giggle and she snuggled close. And then she started to ask him about all the mystery.
“What's all this with the suitcase and the cards, honey? Please. Tell me what's going on?"
But just then Nicki came in the room, saying, “Excuse me, hope I'm not interrupting,” talking to him about something she couldn't follow, sitting on the bed beside her quite naturally as she spoke, her long, slim legs stretched out in front of her, the three of them together on the bed.
“Hey, Princess, I've got a neat idea,” he said to her softly. “Why don't the three of us kind of cuddle together? Would you like that, baby? You and me and Nicki?"
She thought he was joking. “Oh, sure."
“Hear that, Nicki, she likes the idea."
“So do I,” Nicki said.
“Hey! What the hell? I was just kidding.” She moved Nicki's thin fingers from her arm. “What the hell is this?"
“Just a little lovin'? Don't you like Nicki?"
“I like guys, if you haven't noticed. I don't happen to go for other girls.” She was irritated now. Diane was rather homophobic, for one thing.
“Well, that's no big deal,” her strange boyfriend told her. “Nicki ain't a girl, she's a guy."
She knew as he spoke that it was true. “Oh, sure,” she said again. The damn thunder was making her jumpy. And now THIS dumb scene. “Listen, I think I wanna go home. Would you mind?” She thought of the woman's face. The jawline. Mannish in profile.
“I don't think she believes us, Nick. Are you gaffed?” The slim woman beside her shook her head. “Pull up your skirt, doll. Show Princess Di what you have between those lovely legs."
“Come on,” she told him. “This isn't funny ... JESUS!” She jumped out of bed. Nauseated. Shocked. Nicki's long, dark penis lay across her thigh. Diane was horrified. “GOD!"
“See?"
“Get away from me."
“Okay. Okay.” He got her gentled down after Nicki left the room.
“He's a MORPHIDITE!” She was in a chair across the room looking at the bed where the man still lay, his paralyzed legs stretched out in front of him.
“Noooo. I believe the correct phrase is preoperative transvestite, but, you know, if she makes you nervous—"
“SHE. She has a big COCK. She's a MAN."
“Um,” his Reagan voice kicked in, “well—technically—yes.” Eventually he got her calmed down.
“Come over beside me. Nicki won't be back. I promise.” And she sat beside him and he told her all about Nicki and he tried to kiss her and she resisted at first, but he kept it up. Eventually he calmed her down and she slid back over beside him.
“How could you...” But he'd had enough questions and he overpowered her with his handsome face and his open smile, selling her again with all his charm, pulling her over so she'd be safe from the storm, promising her, inviting her, baiting her in his soft, romantic tones, and she let him start kissing her again.
“Drop-dead gorgeous, that's what you are, all right,” he said, and then he had HIS penis out and she let him guide her face down and he gently moved her closer and then he was in her mouth, hard and hot, and moving her head back and forth on him, almost choking her, telling her she was “drop-dead gorgeous,” over and over, filling her throat with him, and it seemed like a minute or less he was making a loud, fast-breathing gasping noise and she knew that he was climaxing, and he was exploding inside her mouth and she tried to pull back then, but he had hold of her hair and then he was pulling her mouth off him and the right hand did something and there was a flash of metal and she screamed as the sudden unbearable stab of pain penetrated her screaming unendurable agony as something struck deep into her mind with deadly force and Diane Taluvera was dying even as he penetrated her again.
Buckhead Springs
Donna had packed most of his wardrobe, it appeared, and he joked with her about it as he unpacked slacks, hanging them back in the master closet in their bedroom, “You tryin’ to get rid of me or what? I'm only goin’ for a couple of days. I got enough clothes in here to stay a month. You guys tryin’ to get rid of me?"
“That's it. We're trying to get rid of you,” she said, coming up behind him, encircling his waist with her arms, and resting her head and upper torso on his back. He managed to get the hook of the hanger back over the rod and turned into her hug, lifting her face up to his.
“Mmwa,” she said, kissing him wetly.
“Those are my sentiments exactly,” he told her, kissing her again. Slowly and gently. It had been a perfect evening. Jonathan had been so docile Jack had decided not to chance telling her about some information he'd picked up about possible allergy therapy. Grains. Fiber. Dairy products. He'd forgotten the other things. Warning signs. He'd seen a video of kids whose behavior was similar to the little boy's. But it had been a quiet night and he wanted to keep it this way. They put their son to bed and finished packing for his trip to Texas in the morning.
“Do you really HAVE to go?” she finally said.
“I dunno,” he sighed. “I suppose not. But it'll cut us a little temporary slack. Media's not going to let Tina Hoyt go down as long as it'll get numbers. We're probably in a ratings sweep or whatever,” he said, his cynicism borne of long experience with the dauntless crusaders of electronic journalism and print.
“How'd you like to cut ME some slack,” she whispered into his ear.
Their mouths mashed hotly together. He could never get enough of her.
Big, beautiful breasts that curved slightly upward like the surreal cartoon boobs in the men's mags, the bazooms of a busty, firm young girl, still nice and high, each crowned with a full, inviting cherry. Long, silky hair, and—most of all, best of all—that attitude of delicious sensuality that was so natural and sweet. He'd come to love Donna so much.
Eichord was still awed and pleased by his wife. By the elegance of her movements. He'd seldom known anyone so totally natural, and he liked to watch the sexy way her femininity asserted itself, the feral way she held herself, her openness as they made love. She was a joy to watch at any time, but especially in their intimate times together. Yet he even liked to watch Donna run, or walk, or just curl up on the sofa. He enjoyed her awake, asleep, animated, or in repose. He thought of his lady as a mysteriously female person who was absolutely open in her ways. An eternal mystery that could still take his breath away.
“What?” she asked him.
“I said there's no bloom off these roses, honey,” Jack muttered.
“I love you,” she told him.
“Hmmmm.” He smiled, moving back a little so he could look at her. He could not say what was in his heart at that moment. Speechless, he wanted to tell her as he looked at one of the most beautiful shapes in nature. Right up there with the rainbows and sunsets and oceans and snowy meadows. Exquisite perfection, beautiful as innocents. Pure and purely feminine.
What was it that old Spanish painter had said about the most beautiful shape—was it an egg? Or the eliptical figure 8 recumbent—the infinity sign? The Greek letter? Or was it the breath-catching sight of the female S-curve, the most perfect line in nature? The glorious S of the breast and buttocks.
Jack Eichord traced a gentle, surprisingly warm line under his wife's loose clothing. “You got a great S, you know that?” he said.