‘‘What’s up, Honey?” He asked, stroking her soft hair.
“Tiger—’’ she said, and he saw the tears in her eyes. She put her arms around his waist.
“Hey—tell me—” He said, murmuring to her, so low. “Just tell me—” He said, deciding the team would wait— this once.
*7 want to marry you—” she said, giving a few choking sobs. The tears were rolling now.
Tiger heard it and viewed it in his mind’s eye in a perspective akin to distress, though he did understand, completely, or tried to. It was the circumstances. For after all, it wasn’t the first time in his career he had encountered such a declaration.
He continued stroking her, aware of a growing need to.
“You do?” He said, humoring her.
“Yes I do,” she said, looking up at him. Her face was a mask of tears. It distressed him.
“Well—” he said, urging her up and putting his arms around her. He could feel the warmth vibrating in the maid, a warmth directed toward him, definitely. She kissed him, with those marvelous lips. He caressed her breasts, through that soft sweater. His face was getting wet.
“/ really do—” she said, breaking it, but remaining in his embrace, and looking into his face. He admired those brown eyes. What lovely brown eyes. Spilling tears—
“I wouldn’t mind,” he said, caressing her. It was more than perspective now, whether or not he was humoring her. She was growing warmer. Maybe no longer part of it. He pressed against her, definitely stirred.
“Do you mean it—Tiger?” She murmured now.
“Sure I do.”
'‘Because I really mean it, Tiger—"
“I know you do.”
She kissed him again, as only she could. His hand slipped into her sweater. He fondled her treasures. Of course, no bra. He found their sweet tips, already they were waiting for him. He caressed the firm things. He feather stroked them.
“Tiger—” She sighed.
“You honey you—”
“That’s why I waited for you—”
“How are you?”
“I wanted to talk with you—”
“I love you talking with me—”
“I really mean it, dear” she paused, giving little faint gasps in his arms, tilting her head back, her eyes closing now, he loved that nose. “I really do mean it—” She said, barely getting it out, “I just—I—Tiger—I can’t go on like —this—” She said, and Tiger almost paused—“I love you so much—my darling Tiger—mine—” She said, quickly now—“Oh my Tiger—” In one breath.
“I know you do,” he murmured to her, removing her sweater, and unbuttoning her blouse, “You think I don’t know it? Hon? You honey hon—” He said, his hands full of her treasures.
“So—darling—I’ve—decided—” She said. “Oh poor Jill—” She said suddenly—“Well I’ve decided—” She said— “Darling, we just have to get married—” She said,
Why? Tiger wanted to ask, saying nothing instead, merely nodding, helping her slip out of her skirt, admiring her slip, and her form. He caressed her form. He murmured to her, kissing her around the ears.
“I’m going to tell everybody about us—Tiger—if you don’t marry me—” She gasped—“I love you so—” She said, throwing this little problem in Tiger’s lap, as he moved on, along her fine neck, for his need was great, and she was one of the top eight. He caressed her thighs, still murmuring to her, his hand slipped between, parting them, gliding over silken skin. There wasn’t much time. How long could a team wait?
“Are you?” he asked, stroking her between those fine thighs, heading for Paradise, while she sighed, and let him stroke as he liked.
“Everybody—” she said, falling back—back, back— slowly—with him—supported by him—“But everybody—” She barely said.
“When?” He said, easing her gently onto the floor, on her back, on the carpet of course, slipping off the rest of her things, the silky things, and throwing his trousers off, deftly, reflecting for the moment and in passing the merits and possibilities of the knee-chest approach, and abandoning it, almost at once, in view of the pressing reality of the time factor, without a doubt the greatest plague of all factors and preparing to mount her, conventionally. She was ready. He gazed upon her momentarily. Admiringly. She was moaning, beckoning. What a treasure. Obviously dying for him. Sweet treasure. He adored her.
“Right after—” She said, whispering, hoarsely, and just barely, "Unless—you promise—" She added, as he mounted her.
Without a doubt, he was aware of her problem, as well as the need upon him. He thrust home beautifully, into that open way. Her legs rose higher, though her feet stayed flat on the floor. Tiger stroked, she moved wonderfully, under him.
“I promise—’’ he uttered, hardly aware of uttering it, as he stroked, exquisitely, thrilling both of them.
“You do? You do?” She said, on fire, streaking upward, on her heavenly way. Where was seventh heaven? She’d find the way—
“OH!” She said, “OH—OH!”'She said, crying out to him, clutching him, as they jolted, and pulsated, simultaneously, massively and stupendously. . . . She raised her feet and wrapped her legs around him, tightly. ... He gasped for breath. . . .
“I’m sorry—” She said at last, releasing him, Her feet glided to the floor, and rested flat again. “You really do?” She said, kissing him, her tongue gliding marvelously into him, meeting his.
He reiterated, quietly, almost sorrowfully, in fact feeling a great wave of sorrow now, without a doubt. Of course she was so young. And magnificent. And Beautiful. She was a beauty. Perfectly beautiful. That was the sorrow of it. For she meant it. He was aware she meant it. Tiger, arriving at the moment of decision, felt such sorrow for
her he could barely speak her name anymore. He felt her tongue so incredibly lovely and delightful, profoundly skilled in all the arts, within his mouth, as if all the ages
had done nothing but teach her the art. She did mean it.
She really did. He knew it. He had always tried to deny it, but she was a staggeringly imaginative maid. That was the pity of it. The greatest pity of it. Hot on the heels of it. Why, so hot on the heels of it? He was puzzled, as well as sorrowful. He couldn’t deny it, he had always had to bear in mind that she would pull this play. He had carried her. She was too beautiful. Vm growing old. The words echoed, within him, increasing his sorrow, twofold. Unfortunate play. Tiger, pulling slowly away from her exquisite lips, gazed down on her face. Her eyes were opening, she
looked in such bliss. What a shame. He couldn’t find a
name. There was a name—His hand slowly moved to her face, slowly, he caressed that young, glowing face. There were tears almost in his eyes, it was a fight to hold them back. Certainly, she meant it, he knew. Hot on the heels of— The tears, hotly pressing, nearly broke. A real shame. He caressed her face. She gave his hand tender little kisses. She caressed his back, beautifully, so soothingly.
“Are you in trouble?” He murmured, almost hopefully.
“No,” she told him, smiling beautifully.
“No, Tiger—” she told him, murmuring, “No.”