And all at once I realized she was right, though for the wrong reason. Of course I should remain loyal to Tom Stanton! My evil little brain went clickety-click, and the whole frabjous plot lay nekkid before me. Alors!
I leaped up from the table. I never did care much for beef stew anyway. Rushing around to Saundra’s side, I embraced her, crying, “You’re right! You’ve made me see the light, Saundra, and tomorrow morning I will go straight to Tom Stanton and warn him of Fehringer’s evil scheme.”
She studied me suspiciously. “Do you mean that?”
“Cross my heart,” I said, crossing my heart.
“Because if you don’t,” she said, “I certainly wouldn’t want to have anything to do with—”
She was far from finished, of course. She intended to talk all night, no matter how often I agreed with her. So I pinched her left nipple and said, “Darling, speak to me only with thine eyes.” That was a little euphemistic cue-phrase we’d developed for a certain amorous variant of which I had become quite a devotee of late, since it prohibited speech on Saundra’s part.
“You haven’t finished supper,” she said.
“It isn’t beef stew I want to eat,” I said gallantly. My future had suddenly opened before me, rosy and soft, elating me in all sorts of ways. As the cave-man returned from a successful hunt or joust, full of his triumph, and could find no better capper for the whole thing than to throw his mate onto the floor of the cave and prod her with his maledom a while, so I.
I grabbed my Saundra’s little breasts — as hard as young rocks, but much more delicious — and led her by them to the bedroom. By the time we passed the threshold, she was giggling and her little tail was wagging just fine. Bohemian ranter or Doughboy doughgirl, both of those were finally incidental. Saundra was, elementally, a sex machine. She had two buttons in front, and both were marked ON.
I’m a lazy man, all in all, and Saundra loved to pander to my laziness. Our conjunction now took its usual — but far from routine — course. Fully clothed, I reclined upon our wrinkled bed, still musky from this morning’s pre-breakfast calisthenics. Saundra, narrow body and all awiggle, pink tongue-tip trembling between her lips, proceeded to undress me while thus I lay in regal lassitude. My shoes and socks she removed, then nibbled my toes a while and tickled my soles. Pulling off her sweater and bra, she next knelt at the foot of the bed and carefully placed my feet. Right foot to left breast, the hard dark burning nipple between first and second toes, likewise left foot to right breast, and then I wiggled my toes for her benefit, while she giggled and wiggled and squealed. A silly thing, but we both enjoyed it.
Then, her eyes now gleaming bright, she would push my feet away and come climbing up over me, to sit astride my waist and unbutton my shirt while I unzipped her dungarees. Man’s dungarees, thank God. The female variety has the fly on the side, designed no doubt by some anti-social type or a believer in the theories of Malthus.
In order to remove my shirt, she would have to lean close over me, while I propped up a bit on my elbows. This position was perfect for windshield wiper: Left breast, kiss, right breast, kiss, left breast, kiss, and so on. The T-shirt involved a bit more work, but was worth it.
At this juncture, Saundra liked to lie prone upon me a moment or two, and nibble on my chest. I always took this opportunity to push her dungarees and panties down over her hips and halfway down her thighs, which was as far as I could reach in that position. I then liked to treat her buttocks like a drum, slapping little stinging syncopated rhythms on them, while she squirmed in delight beneath my hands.
When we’d worked this routine as far as we could stand, Saundra would next writhe off me and, standing beside the bed, finish removing her dungarees and panties. Then she would stand close enough for me to do some in-fighting while she wrestled with my belt, and stripped away the last two pieces of my clothing.
Then she spoke to me, for a while, only with her eyes. For very good and obvious reasons.
There were times when I preferred to simply lie in state during this interlude, passively appreciating her attentions upon me. But there were other times, and this was one of them, when I was in high spirits and wanted to reciprocate in kind, a treat that Saundra found absolutely delightful. She was, as I have said, a lean and bony thing, all flesh and bone, but with wiry muscles and unquenchable energies. She found it impossible to remain still whenever I so much as touched her. Her shoulders twitched, waggling her bite-size breasts, her hips gyrated, her legs trembled, her arms waved around, and she was generally and delightfully in motion. This motion increased tenfold when I chose to perform upon her the equivalent of her service for me. The dear hard nipples of her lovely breasts would scrape upon my belly, her head would nod in staccato agreement, her hips would pulse madly upon me as I once more slapped the small globes of her buttocks, her knees would beat upon the bed beyond my ears, and her hands would caress in fine imitation of my own handiwork upon her.
Yet she was always the one who first ended this preliminary bout, coming up gasping for air, her face bright with sweat, her mouth lax and passion-drugged. “Now,” she would whisper, unable to talk aloud. “Oh, now, Harvey, do it to me now, take me, do it!”
And I would slap her ringingly, here and there, which only made her desire more intense, and she would squirm around, sitting now in position similar to the one she’d taken when unbuttoning my shirt, though now with a significant difference, and thus she would sit, writhing and pulsing, the muscles working beneath the skin of her flat stomach, her breasts bouncing with her exertions, her head flung back, eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open, her hands prodding me like a lifeguard performing artificial respiration. And I, lazy and comfortable and effete male, would lie in pleasant bliss upon my back, a silly smile upon my face, a passive but interested observer as Saundra agitated over me, working herself to a climax.
What a wonder that girl was! Undoubtedly stupid, as I have earlier said, and full of all sorts of philosophical eyewash, Bohemianism interwoven with Doughboyism, but Lord love a duck was she good in bed! And making love was such a natural and basic thing to her that she crested more readily and more often than any other girl I have ever known, before or since.
So we would continue, until she would suddenly go rigid, arms twisted upward and fingers curled, mouth wide-stretched in a silent scream, and my hands would rub her, finding every muscle taut and tense, her nipples fairly tingling beneath my touch, her abdomen as hard as a wall.
Thus she would climb to the peak before I, but she was good about it. She always rushed back down the mountain to join me again, so that now we could climb together.
And for our second stage, our positions would be more or less reversed. She would be tired now, worn from her labors, and I chivalrously would allow her to take my place. In legend, men have owed their strength to the length of their hair or the whim of some deity or some other such unlikely source. My own strength would arise much more directly. Saundra’s first exertions never failed to inspire me, and I believe that I have never risen to the occasion with any other woman as strongly or as well as with Saundra.
Ah, if only she hadn’t been such an utter bean-brain! I might have never become involved with Helen. And who knows, then, what my future might have been. Surely not Jodi and her illegal proposition.
At any rate, the day that I decided to remain true to Tom Stanton turned out to be one of the best encounters that Saundra and I ever had together. And the next day, refreshed in body and mind, I waited till I saw an important client enter Fetid Fehringer’s office — so I was certain he would be in there for a while, and wouldn’t see me leave my desk nor know my destination — and then I went up to talk to Tom Stanton.