Phil had the best of it. With his long-neglected prick flexing happily in his Maddy's belly, he could bury his mouth in the rich wetness of Flair's pink cunt, find her clit and drill two women at once. Never had male pride risen higher than to feel the sweet distress of the two females as they writhed and grunted, pleasure-wracked and helpless under his double assault. He thrilled over and over, driving, driving, driving, lost to the world, living in the high exultation of mastering two gorgeous females at once. He went on and on.
It was Flair who gave up her sex treasure first. The lascivious orgy was just too much for her inexperienced soul. She felt the ineffable, sweet culmination rush at her. Her eyes went big, her mouth fell open, she grabbed Phil's head, froze and delivered her cunt throbs with rich cries of "Oh, oh, oh, I'm fuckedddd!"
Legs wrapped around Phil's back, cunt driven to ecstasy of feeling, Maddy heard Flair's desperate cries of joy and succumbed to Phil's ravaging prick.
"I have – to – oh, God, I have to goooo!" she sang.
Throb, throb, throb. She locked on Phil, went paralyzed and opened her belly in female submission, her cunt squeezing powerfully on Phil's shaft as she lost her womanhood to the white-hot blaze in her cunt. "Ahhh!"
It was the double orgasms, the feel of two hot, helpless cunts expiring one after the other that raised Phil to the peak of his own lust passion. With Flair done and panting in relief, with Maddy finished, he cried out his sex warrior's triumph.
"You're both fuckeddd! And I'm gone!"
His body tensed in an incredible locking of muscle, nerve and gland. There was a glorious, unforgettable paralysis of bliss before the deluge. Then his cock let go to explode inside the cunt of the girl he'd always wanted so badly. Spurt, spurt, spurt. Giving animal grunts he seeded her with massive relief and exulting shots of jism. "Yeee," he cried as he spent and spent in total fulfillment of his sexual power. As he spurted in glory, Maddy throbbed some more and he floated away into sublime spheres of ultimate consummation, realizing his manhood in mind, body and soul.
When Phil woke up the next morning the girls were gone. So, he discovered, when he emerged from the tent, were all the contestants! The beach was bare of everything but tourists.
"Oh, they moved the start of the race up to the isthmus," a man told him. "Old Singleton knows it's only eighteen miles across at that point, so everybody has a better chance."
Phil arrived at the isthmus boat-hitchiking, minutes before the start of the race. The scene was chaos with the final hundred or so swimmers standing just short of the water, waiting for the starting gun. Spectators on shore and on boats leaned forward anxiously.
The starting gun sounded and a hundred or so eager marathoners dived, ran, splashed or walked into the water. Among the number were some world-famous, highly trained swimmers. These few immediately stroked ahead of the field and disappeared. Even as the roar from the crowd and the blasting boat horns began to fade it was easy to see that the vast horde were only there for the fun. The sun was out, but the water close to shore was fifty-five degrees and only sixty-four in the middle of the San Pedro channel.
There were plenty of volunteer boats to pace the swimmers as well as the boats of the judges. Vic didn't want anybody to drown in his extravaganza.
Phil found Vic at the starter's booth.
"What about the girls?" he asked.
"I'm letting 'em swim, but they have a handicap. They have to wait for an hour after the start to go in the water."
That was fatal. With strong male champions out there, the girls could never catch up.
"You prick!" said Phil.
Vic put his head close to Phil. "No, you're the prick! You fucked my girl last night. I'm through with you, always screwing my women. You're fired, Griffin!"
Later Phil paced Maddy in the water, ready with hot broth and encouragement as he followed in a boat. He didn't blame her for trying. To train and then not to swim would be too much. She gave up after four hours, because the leaders were too far ahead and her heart wasn't in it.
A while later they saw Flair picked up by her handler's boat. She waved to them, they waved back. Phil, saw the look on Maddy's face and understood then that she felt guilty about knifing Flair and ending Flair's chances. Maddy wouldn't have swum her best anyway.
Phil asked her about the situation with Vic after last night.
She said she didn't know. Vic still wanted her; she wasn't sure.
She wanted to take a month and think it over.
"I'll visit my folks in San Diego. I want to get away from everybody, Phil, including you."
Phil was suddenly sick of the whole thing, and of Vic, Flair, Texas, George and even Maddy. He was angry that Vic had shortened the swim. In sum he'd wasted better than two years and gummed himself up with too much sex at the wrong time as usual. What he needed most of all was a new career start. Once he reached land he was through with this crowd. Even if Vic hadn't fired him, he'd have quit.
The winner of the race was a penniless Canadian teenager, George Young, who confounded everyone by beating several world champions. He collected the twenty-five thousand, lots of publicity, and some stage appearances, the hero of the hour. A poor, widow mother back home added to the magnificence of his triumph. His time was fifteen hours and forty-five minutes, a beautiful swim for the record books.
CHAPTER EIGHT
New York, the Hippodrome Theatre, 1935. Billy Rose, the pint-sized showman with the personality, energy and charm of a six footer, was in a pet.
"We got to open Jumbo in two weeks!" he cried to his staff. "Now you tell me my best comic diver has a sprained back and can't work for a month! So what do we put in that big tank under the stage?"
"We're trying to get a replacement, Mr. Rose," an assistant placated him.
"Wait a minute," said Rose. "That sleazy guy who got me the Austin Sisters. What was his name? George, yes, George Panther. Find him. I remember he mumbled about some mug he knew who was doing a water show over at the college in Princeton. Find Panther for me."
While a member of the staff hastened to the card file, Billy Rose ruminated aloud. "Funny thing about Broadway. A spiffy guy in a high hat and spats sells me an act and it turns out to be a mangy dog show. On the other hand a guy who looks like he slides around corners and steals leavings at the Automat hands me an act that sings with class. Who can figure it?"
The staff remembered the cheap-looking agent who camped on Billy's tail with trying to promote a singing trio, the Austin Sisters. When Billy finally gave the guy a tumble and saw the act, it was classy enough to win a big spot in Jumbo. Everybody loved the Austin Sisters and so would the audience.
"Oh, yeah," said George when Billy got him on the phone. "I know this guy, he puts on water shows at colleges across the country. Raises money for swim sports. He's a real pro. Better in the water than on dry land."
"But can he dive forty feet into that tank on the stage of the Hippodrome and make it look funny?"
"If the price is right," said George, "he can scare 'em white and then make 'em red-faced with laughter."
"Get him," ordered Rose. "What's his name?"
"Phil Griffin."
"We'll look at him this afternoon at three," said Billy and hung up.
George hadn't seen Phil for eight years. He got a letter once in a while and cards at Christmas, but that was about it. When Phil came to his hotel room, George was glad to note that he looked as sleek and young as ever, though he was in his mid-thirties. He told Phil about Billy Rose, after they'd exchanged the shy greetings that were inevitable after a large gap in time.