The
Broken Drum
I'd been watching
the wind driven rain smear the plate glass
windows, as
I used my pen to chase the ice cubes around in my
glass of DeWars,
as I thought about the case I'd caught. Another
ugly case.
Real ugly. For some reason I never got any 'nice' or
straight forward
murders. The ones I caught were usually messy.
Like this one.
Another woman's nude body stuffed into a duffel
bag in a car
trunk parked in the long-term lot at the airport.
I'd been mulling
over the physical evidence we had... and it
wasn't much.
My attention
had shifted to the booze as it made oily swirls
through the
smoky amber, just like it always did. I'd heard the
tap of high-heels,
and unconsciously glanced up and smiled as
Janine carried
a tray of fresh drinks to the table in the corner.
Somehow, she
always drew my attention. It was her long tapered
legs I suppose,
or maybe the way she filled out her blouse.
I'd been stopping
in to have a drink a few times a week ever
since I moved
into the neighborhood. A nice enough place, but
nothing special.
I suppose it was a combination of their chili
and Janine's
muscular calves that kept me coming back. It's
unbelievable
when you think how fast a year can pass. One day
blending into
the next, on and on. 'Maybe your booze consumption
has something
to do with the way the days run together,' I
thought, as
I sipped my drink.
I was always
coming up with brilliant ideas like that. "Stop
smoking.
Stop drinking. Start exercising. Win the Lottery.
Write a book
about some interesting case and make a million." I
was a real fountain
of great ideas.
So far tonight,
Janine had been to my table twice. The first
time to deliver
a glass of my usual, and the second when I waved
her over to
pay the check. Both times we played eye games, and
flirted, like
always.
I'd gathered
up my raincoat, from the empty chair across the
table, where
I'd tossed it in a sodden heap. I said my goodbyes
and gave Janine
a wink, . I was in the process of shrugging on
the soggy coat,
and trying to open the front door at the same
time, when it
crashed open.... And everything changed.
Like I said,
I was leaning forward, shrugging on my beat-up
London Fog,
so the door smashed into my forehead, and I fell flat
on my ass.
I knew what had happened, so I looked up to see what
kind of ill-mannered
son-of-a-bitch had whacked my melon. Little
did I know...
From my vantage
point on the floor, my eyes flicked up and saw
what looked
like a full acre of firm, tapered, nylon encased
inner thigh
that went up and up until it disappeared in the
darkness under
a short navy blue skirt.
"I'm so sorry,"
were the first words she said, as I scrambled to
my feet.
"Forget it,"
I growled, as the adrenalin rush started to pass,
and a whole
different set of hormones kicked in. I brushed
myself off,
with a little help from the lady, and mumbled
something about
getting another drink.
"Oh, let me
buy," she said. "It's all my fault!"
"Okay, okay,"
I grumbled. "That was my table over there," I
added pointing.
She set out
walking toward our objective, and I followed. About
this time it
struck me that this lady didn't walk. She
"moved"...
What I had taken for a navy blue skit was really the
bottom half
of a knit dress that hugged her body like the skin
fits a grape.
And the skirt wasn't a typical knit. It was split
up the side,
nearly to the hip.
I suppose my
mouth dropped open, because when I checked out the
guys at the
bar, that's what had happened to them... We all
looked like
frogs catching flies.
My attention
quickly shifted back to the lady's back, or rather
her backside
that shifted alluringly with every step. Her skirt
ended above
mid-thigh, and her trim ankles, sculptured calves,
and trim tapered
thighs flashed, as the split displayed nearly
their full length,
in the subdued lighting, as that tight knit
bun-hugging,
ass-emphasizing skirt showcased her tight, rounded,
undulating butt;
that moved like two well-oiled footballs.
She turned,
as she reached 'my table', pointed at a chair, and
raised her eyebrow,
asking if her choice of a seat was
acceptable.
I nodded. She sat, as I approached, and crossed her
long thoroughbred
legs, as her skirt rode even higher on her
thighs.
I sat, and I
guess I stared, because she asked if I was all
right.
All right was
hardly the term to describe my condition. If you
placed your
emphasis on HARD, it would been much more accurate.
I waved to Janine,
who by now was glaring daggers at me, and as
she made her
way to 'our table', I asked my companion what she
would like.
"Black Jack...
And have her bring the bottle."
As we waited
for a now surly Janine to return with our drinks, I
introduced myself...
"By the way, I'm Eric... Eric Thornquist."
I always was
real smooth with the ladies.
"Nice to bump
into you, Eric," she laughed. "I'm Candice."
"I'd enjoy bumping
into you too, Candice... repeatedly, but next
time I'd use
something other than my head."
She laughed,
at my attempt at humor. Little did she know how
honest I was
being. Shit, I'd been checking her out, during our
stroll to the
table (which I thoroughly enjoyed), and again as
we faced each
other across the expanse of 'our' heavy oak table.
She was about
5'-7" and probably weighed 125-130 soaking wet.
(Was that a
Freudian slip?). Her hair was long and blonde,
falling in soft
waves until it ended, below her shoulders. Her
complexion was
flawless, and her lips were full and friendly.
The top of the
dress accentuated the rich fullness of her
breasts, and
maybe it was the chill, but just saw a hint of her
nipples, when
the light was just right. And her face was as
perfect as the
rest. Open, and honest, with sparkling green eyes,
there wasn't
even a hint of pinched meanness. Maybe my luck was
finally changing.
"So, Mr. Eric
Thornquist. What are you doing here tonight?" she
queried.
"Just stopped
for a drop of the usual," I answered. "And you?"
"I saw this
place written up in the Arts and Entertainment
Section a while
ago, and thought I'd give it a try. I thought it
had a cute name..."
"You mean, The
Broken Drum?"
"Yes, but that's
not the cute part. The cute part is the
rest..'You Can't
Beat it'. That's what the article said too.
That you couldn't
beat their steaks."
"They are pretty
good," I answered lamely, and then plunged on,
with what I
thought was a suave segue. "But, by yourself? What
about your significant
other?"
"He's working
late. He's always either working late or out of
town," she flared,
scrunching her eyebrows together. "Besides,
I'm better company
to myself than he's been lately."
"Sorry....
I was just making conversation," I back-pedaled. As I
tried to extricate
myself from the mess I was making of 'small-
talk', I glanced
down, and was immediately captured by the
promise of her
entire leg, exposed as it was by the split skirt.
"See something
you like, Eric?"
"No! I
mean yes! I mean, your slip is showing." See what I
mean. I'm a
real conversational giant.
Our eyes locked,
and she very deliberately blinked. Twice. "I
don't know how
that's possible. I'm not wearing one."
I unbuttoned
my coat and leaned forward, ready to respond with
something profound,
when I saw her eyes widen with surprise.
"Eric, I see
the butt of your gun!" she gasped.
"That's only
fair, I was watching yours earlier."
"Ahhh, but you
see," she smirked, "I have a much nicer butt than
you."
"I know....
It's fantastic. A man could spend a week exploring
it," I said
with a soft laugh, lifting both hands in mock
surrender.
"But you win. I don't want to butt heads with you.
Besides, my
head is already sore."
"I really am
sorry about that, Eric. But, if it hadn't happened
we wouldn't
be sitting here now." There was a brief pause, and
then she continued,
"Tell me what a nice cop like you was doing
in here all
by himself."
"We're not going
to talk about butts are we?" (Thrust)
Something happened
back behind her eyes. Her pink tongue
deliberately
traced their way over her firm full lips, and she
said, "We can
talk about butts if you want to."
It was like
she was reading my mind. There was nothing I'd
rather than
talk about than her butt.
"Did you know,"
I stammered, "you are one of the rarest of
women?"
"What's that
supposed to mean?" I could tell she wasn't at all
sure where the
conversation was headed (or should I say 'butted'
since that WAS
the subject of the moment). "You mean that it's
unusual for
a woman to be in here alone? At your table?"
"Relax....
That's not what I meant at all. What I meant was
since we were
talking about butts... I'm a connoisseur of the
female posterior,
and yours is spectacular."
"Thank you,
I guess... It is the only one I've got."
"Ohhh, you've
got it all right. Do you know how rare it is to
see one like
yours? I mean a true heart-shaped ass!"
"Heart-shaped?"
"Sure...
The way it swells out at your hips, and then tucks in
tight at the
... I mean the way it's shaped. Like a heart.
I'll bet you're
the first I've ever seen in person."
Listen, buster.
An ass is an ass."
"True, but all
asses are not created equal," I quipped.
"But they all
serve the same purpose," she grinned, "but, as a
connoisseur
I'm sure you can explain the difference."
"The difference
is in style. To use your analogy a '52 Chevy and
a Porche 924
serve the same purpose. The difference is in the
lines and the
form... And if you'll pardon the expression, how
much fun they
are to drive." I tried to maintain a straight
face, as she
chuckled. Then I continued, "The same can be set
for asses, or
butts if you prefer. Walk down any street and
observe the
female posteriors. Some are so wide they're measured
in ax-handles,
some have sagging buns, some jiggle like bowls of
Jell-O, and
some women suffer from that dread malady 'no-ass-a-
tall'.
I looked over,
and her eyes were dancing as I picked up speed.
"On the other
hand, some are slim and tight, nicely rounded, or
have fantastic
definition. It's all in the eye of the beholder."
"Okay, Mr. Expert.
What about mine?"
"Like I said,
yours is that one-in-a-million, breathtaking, moan-
causing, erection
arousing, perfectly proportioned, example of
feminine perfection;
a heart-shaped butt. It's a pleasure to
follow you anytime,
anywhere."
"Down, boy!
I think I should throw a bucket of cold water on
you," she said
with a shake of her head.
"Right now I
don't think it would help."
"So, I take
it you liked what you beheld...?"
"I'd like to
hold what I beheld." (Damn, I'm into this repartee)
"Keep me laughing,
Big Boy... You just might get your wish," she
chuckled in
reply to my amazing wit, as she reached over and
squeezed my
hand.
During this
whole con-fab she'd been putting away the Black Jack,
neat.
Pop... Pop... Pop... One after another. Not non-stop, but
steady.
I was still
working in my first one (at this sitting), so I knew
I was okay.
I took a careful look and she wasn't showing any
effect, YET.
But since she was flesh and blood it would only be
a matter of
time.
I reached for
her wrist, and held it on the table. "Candice,
you've been
hitting that awfully hard. How about something to
eat?"
"Why not?" she
answered. "I want a steak, a baked potato and
a salad.
Will you order while I run to the 'tur-let'?"
"Sure," I answered.
"How do you want your steak, and what kinda
dressing?"
By now she was
on her feet, and I was again treated to an eyeful
of the whole
enchilada. "Rare, and blue cheese," she answered.
Her legs were
spread, and the one closest to me stuck all that
out of that
spit skirt again.
I'm sure she
felt my eyes, as the traveled all the way up. From
the tip of the
thin black spike-heels, over her thin, fine boned
ankle, across
her trim calf, around her slim knee, up that finely
muscled tapered
thigh, grazing her tight belly, lingering at her
firm swelling
breasts. Oh, yeah.... Quite a package.
She turned and
winked at me, over her shoulder as she angled to
the 'tur-let'.
God Damn! She moved like she had ball-bearings in
her hips, and
in that tight knit each one of her firm, tight,
independently-suspended
buns expanded and contracted, and raised
and lowered,
moved forward and backward.... called to me in the
oldest language
know to man.
I waved to Janine,
and tried to place our order. Janine was
being difficult,
so I hoped we wouldn't get chili. Women! I'd
asked Janine
out twice, and she'd refused times. Now, here I am
with a 'live
one' and she's acting jealous. Candice was only
gone a few minutes.
But by the time she started back to the
table out order
was place, and I got to lean back and enjoy her
bod, as she
walked toward me for a change.
She knew I'd
be watching for her, and the way she stopped just
outside the
lady's room door. She posed in that spraddle-legged,
hip-shot stance,
that was as subtle as a train wreck. But
complain?
Not me!!!
Candice started
back across the wide-planked wooden floor, each
step performed
almost like a samba. Her legs made a swish as
their nylon
coverings softly touched the knit skirt, and her
pelvis rocked,
side-to-side, tugging one side of that tight
skirt, and then
the other. The knit emphasized the motion of her
thighs as they
moved, the fabric highlighting her mons, where it
gathered quietly.
Glancing higher,
her breasts moved, gently bouncing and swaying,
seemingly unrestrained.
Their motion seemed to be having an
interesting
effect on her nipples, as their arousal and erectness
became more
apparent as she drew closer. Either A> she was a
turned-on as
I was, or B> she was smuggling cherries in her bra,
or C> the room
was colder to her than it was to me. Not that it
mattered a damn
bit. The view was fantastic, and I enjoyed every
second of it.
As she approached
the table, there was a broad smile on her face,
and an enticing
twinkle in her eyes, like she had a secret.
Instead to taking
the chair directly across the table, she had
been using,
she took a seat next to him, where both he and the
table shielded
her from the room.
After sitting,
she leaned forward, as if to speak softly. As her
head tilted,
her long blonde mane softly swirled, and a quick
shake of her
head settled it. I moved my closer, and my eyes
widened in surprise
and pleasure, as her sharp fingernails
sensuously raked
the length of my thigh.
"We're going
to discover some things together, Eric," she said in
a husky, sultry
tone.
"Like what?"
"Ohhhhhhh, like
how good the steaks are here.... And how big your
gun is.....
And........," her voice dropped until it was almost
inaudible, "we're
going to discover where you intend to spend the
night."
"Jesus, Candice...."
"You're not
interested?"
"Of course I'm
interested," he gasped. "Do you think I'm crazy?"
A flush started
to rise in her cheeks before she responded, "No,
Eric.
I'm the one who's acting crazy. I'm sorry if I
embarrassed
you."
"Nothing to
be sorry for," I said in what i hoped was a quiet
soothing voice.
"At least not yet. Let's eat our meals, and
make sure that
that last statement wasn't just the booze
talking."
In the far corner of the bar, Leon had watched the entire
scenario unfold
with a look of contempt on his face. He hated
cops.
And he hated fancy bitches almost as much. There
weren't many
things in this life that he didn't hate.
He didn't really hate cops but it seemed as if they were
always around.
Always picking on him, causing him trouble. Like
the time he'd
been caught peeping in his neighbor's apartment.
He sighed and
nursed his beer. What a sight she had been......
He'd watched her off and on, ever since she'd moved in,
right across
the street. At first, he'd thought she was teasing
him; the way
she seemed to leave the drapes open. The first time
he'd noticed
he was waiting for Bodo to pick him up for work.
Leon immersed himself in the circumstances that lead to his
last contact
with the police.........
Leon hated working nights, but with his looks and record he
couldn't get
a job at a bank, and stock brokers wouldn't touch
him with a ten
foot pole (or two five foot Swedes glued
together). The
job at the "Stop and Rob" just barely paid his
rent, so he'd
had to supplement it by working as a collector for
Guido Schungilli.
Bodo had recruited him one night after he'd
had enough of
a group of punk rockers.
The four kids had been in and out of the store, buying
cigarettes,
beer, bothering customers, and slobbering over the
'skin magazines'
on the rack near the back door for over an hour
when they'd
started scuffling. In the process, they'd kicked
over a display
of bottled beer, smashing several bottles, and
making an awful
mess
Leon had grabbed the short baseball bat he kept under the
counter and
confronted them. Demanding that they pay for what
they'd broken.
"Cough it up," Leon demanded, snapping his fingers.
"Up yer's. We was just leavin'"
The four spike-haired freaks pushed past him, making for the
entrance.
Leon was right behind them. The punkers banged the
door open and
arranged themselves in a semi-circle.
"Let's have the cash, asshole," Leon growled.
"You can have THIS," shouted the largest of the quartet, as
he attempted
a round-house punch.
Leon's face took on a wolfish grin, as he countered the blow
with a short
thrust of the bat to the punk's diaphragm. In less
than fifteen
seconds all of the leather-clad, chain draped, spike
encrusted delinquents
were on the ground, gasping and moaning.
Leon casually
picked them up, and one at a time, unceremoniously
tossed them
into the stinking dumpster near the curb.
"Nicely done."
The softly spoken words interrupted Leon's thoughts as
ambled back
to the store.
"I said..Nicely done." The words came again from behind the
darkly tinted
window of a new Lincoln Leon had not seen earlier.
"No big deal......Just tossing out some trash."
A few minutes later Leon had an offer for employment to
supplement the
$6.50 an hour he was making as night manager.
Sigbodt (Bodo)
Elliffson made it sound easy. He ran the
collection operation
for the town's biggest gambler, Guido
Schungilli.
All Leon would have to do was 'lean' on a few folks
with faulty
memories.....and he could keep half of what he
collected.
All of it had flooded over Leon, as he sat in his dark
apartment, waiting
for Bodo, and watching his young neighbor
'star' in that
evening's installment of, "Letch at your
Neighbor".
He groaned as he watched the girl dancing along with the
exercise tape.
She was wearing her usual un-outfit; just a filmy
bra and barb-wire
panties. Leon grinned at that line, and
thought 'barb-wire
panties'.... they protect the property but
don't spoil
the view.
The girl was covered with a light sheen of sweat,
(perspiration,
you asshole... Ladies don't sweat), as he watched
her do exaggerated
pelvic thrusts, supported by her feet and
shoulders, in
a position that reminded him of a wrestler's
bridge.
"Oh baby....could you and I do great things together, was
the last thought
that flashed through his mind before Bodo's
Lincoln pulled
to the curb outside his apartment....
Bodo had him back to his apartment in less than an hour.
Just a few minutes
of light work had netted him $150. He'd
walked right
up to the man's front door carrying a can of Blatz,
and confronted
the deadbeat while his family watched tv in the
living room.
"OK, asshole. We can do this easy.... or we can do it hard.
Your choice."
His voice always surprised people, they thought it
sounded funny,
kind of a raspy whiskey tenor that seemed out of
place emanating
from his massive body.
"Who are you? What do you want?" that night's victim
stammered.
"Guido sent me...., he said you'd understand."
"Ahhh... I'm two days late...., and he sends a collector?"
"All I know is I'm supposed to bring back $300, and that's
all I'm gonna
do. Either that or a piece of your ass. Your
choice.
I see Dead President's in one minute, or I start taking
you apart....
Right here where mom and the two kids can have a
front row seat
to watch the mud and blood and the beer." He
emphasized his
statement by dumping the dregs of the Blatz on the
man's burnished
cordovan wingtips.
"Jesus, I don't have $300 in cash on me..."
"Like I said. Your choice....and you're down to thirty
seconds."
Leon rose to the balls of his feet, and began pulling
on thin black
leather gloves.
"Hold it..., come on..., hold it.... I've got maybe $150."
"I'll take it," Leon rasped. "You still get a beating and
you'll still
owe this week's $300. We'll consider the $150
interest.
And next week's $300 and this week's $300 are both due
on Monday.
Or I'll be back."
"Jeez...I've got the money in the bank. I just don't have
it here...."
"So....?"
"So follow me over to the bank machine.... I'll get you the
whole $300,"
came the whining reply.
"No fucking around?"
"Just let me get my wallet," the man begged.
"You're not gettin' outa my sight. Just holler at your
wife, and have
her bring it to you."
The guy was practically groveling, begging Leon not to get
his family involved.....,
but, he did as he was told. The lady
of the house,
(not a bad looking piece of beef either) looked at
Leon questioningly
until the guy went into a song and dance about
a water leak
at his office, and how he had to go look and would
be right back.
Leon rode with the welcher while Bodo trailed them in the
Lincoln.
The trip and the rest of the transaction were
uneventful,
almost anti-climatic. He got the $300 and made a
strong suggestion
to the man that he keep his account current.
As Bodo drove him home, Leon peeled off $150 and stuffed it
into his pocket,
handing Bodo the other half.
"Wanna drink?" Bodo asked.
"Nahh...I'm too wound up right now. I really was looking
forward to pounding
some lumps on that whuss...", Leon remarked
as he started
to crawl out of Bodo's car.
"Maybe next time," Bodo laughed, as he began to drive off.
Leon watched the Lincoln turn the corner and was about to
start up the
walk to his building when movement in the window
across the street
caught his eye. It was 'her' apartment.
Leon crossed the street, and drifted closer to the building,
changing his
angle to the window, until he had a clear view into
her bedroom.
He'd caught part of this kind of action an earlier
night, but from
across the street (even with binoculars) he could
not see too
well.
This was a different story. He had a clear, close-up view
of 'her' as
she lay naked on her bed. He watched her hands
glide over her
torso and cupped her breasts. Her fingers busily
teasing her
coral pink nipples, and he watched carefully as they
became firm
and erect before his eyes.
She shifted slightly and reached to a bedside table, and
then while one
hand continued to torment her tits, the other used
a bumpy pink
dildo to get herself off, over and over again.
Leon watched the drama unfold, captured by its sheer
eroticism, and
didn't notice the black and white cruiser as it
turned onto
his street, and accelerated toward where he was
standing, close
to her window.
"Freeze, motherfucker," a voice barked, jerking Leon back to
reality.
The two cops had spread-eagled him across the hood of the
cruiser, patted
him down, and cuffed him. Leon had been through
the drill a
time or two, so he cooperated...., as much as they'd
let him.
The $150 jammed into his pocket had raised their
eyebrows, as
had the $200 and change in his wallet.
They'd called in on the radio, using his driver's license as
an ID, and
glared at him, while they waited for an NCIC report.
Then it finally
was radioed back, it was lights and sirens all
the way to the
Cop Shop.
He stayed cuffed during the booking, and while he was
finger-printed,
one of the bulls had his opposite arm in a
hammerlock.
He guessed they didn't get many yellow sheets like
his....
When the detective finally got around to interviewing him,
he was asked,
"What were you doing when the officers apprehended
you?"
"I just got home and was starting into my apartment, when I
saw something
in that window. It looked like a fight or
something, so
I walked across the street to be sure. I was just
checking it
out when your guys jumped all over me."
"They said you were acting like a peeper."
"Like hell...when did you ever see a peeper standing on the
sidewalk...
without a raincoat...under a streetlight?"
"You've got a point there, Ace."
"Damn straight." Leon wasn't worried and it started to show
in his tone
of voice. "I was across the street from my own
apartment, on
the sidewalk, acting like a good citizen...what are
you going to
charge me with?"
"Relax, Ace," the detective answered. "I'm cutting you
loose this time.
But, we'll be watching for you to step outa
line..., just
once. Then, it'll be right back in the slammer.
By the time Leon got back to his place, there were no lights
showing across
the street in 'her' apartment, so he stripped,
stretched out,
and simply stroked himself, as he replayed what
he'd watched
through her window.
The next day, he paid a visit to "Telescopes-R-Us" and
bought a 300x
telescope and tripod, which he installed in a
strategic window.
That night, and almost every night from then
on, he watched,
enjoyed, and desired his neighbor. He didn't
know if she
was an exhibitionist or just forgetful, and he didn't
really care.
He did know that he was forming a real attachment
for the little
bundle of red-haired dynamite that nearly every
day made his
forehead sweat and his joint swell and throb.
Leon's day dream ended, and he glanced across the bar to the
table where
the blonde and the cop were working on some steaks.
If he was any
judge, the blonde had just decided to snap her lips
around a trouser
trout.
Me..., Eric
Thornquist, Detective Senior Grade, had learned quite
a bit about
The Constitution's Arts and Entertainment food
reviewer while
we ate. I also learned a bit about the blonde
too.
I learned the
food reviewer probably took cash under the table in
exchange for
glowing reviews. Our steaks were well prepared, but
tough.
The lady was
tough too. In more ways than one. Her name (at
least for tonight)
was Candice, and she lived up on the hill.
She was 33 years
old, married for the second time, had great
legs, and seemed
horny as hell.
"Whattaya say
we get outa here?" I asked, as I set my coffee cup
down on the
dark, highly polished table.
"Where to?"
Candice asked. "Some place private, I hope."
"I was thinking
of the police pistol range...out behind the
airport.
Is that private enough?"
"So I can play
with your gun?" she giggled.
"You seemed
interested earlier."
"Well, that
seemed fair," she answered. "I was looking at your
gun butt, and
you were looking at mine."
"Right you are...
What I was looking at had nothing to do with a
gun," I answered
with a perfectly straight face.
"I know...
Oh, I know..." came her breathy reply. "I could feel
your eyes moving
over it."
"Let's go, and
you'll feel a lot more than my eyes."
"Promises, promises,"
she said with a wicked glint in her eyes.
"Well", I asked,
"are we gonna sit here all night? I think it
was probably
the booze talking earlier, anyway."
"What aah-vah
do ya-all mean?"
"When you said,
we'd have to see where I was going to spend the
night."
"If there's
two things I know how to do, it's hold my liquor,
and keep my
word. I'll just make a quick stop in the Lady's, and
we'll see if
that pistol you're carrying is a pop-gun or a real
cannon.
Toss me your raincoat, and I'll be right back."
She picked up
her purse, and took my damp coat like it was a dead
rat. Then
she repeated that fantastic stroll across the room to
the 'tur-let'.
She wasn't quite as steady on her feet as she'd
been earlier,
but that didn't detract from my enjoyment.
While she was
gone, I paid off Janine, and gave her a twenty
percent tip.
She didn't look at all impressed by my generosity.
In fact, I swear
I heard her whisper, "bastard" in my general
direction.
Candice stepped
out of the Lady's, and motioned for me to join
her. I
have to say, that old rain coat looked a lot better on
her than it
did on me.
Leon, watched Eric, as he walked over and took Candice's
elbow as they
started out to the parking lot. He also noticed as
she leaned heavily
against him, apparently feeling the effects of
the drinks.
I wasn't sure,
but I suspected that the way she pressed her firm
warm breast
against my hand as we walked, wasn't entirely the
fault of the
alcohol. But, under the circumstances, who was I to
complain?
"Which car are
we going to take," Candice asked as we approached
the plain Ford
I was using, where it was parked in the second
row.
"Maybe we should
take mine," I replied. "That way there won't be
any questions
if it's seen at the range."
"Wonderful,"
Candice cooed, "the last thing I need is my husband
asking questions."
Always the gentleman,
I steered her across the gravel and pot-
holes, and unlocked
and opened the door for her. With a minimum
of lost motion,
the clip-board and thermos were tossed into the
back seat.
"Your chariot
awaits, Lovely Lady."
"Boy you are
full of it, aren't you," she whispered in my ear,
just before
grazing my cheek with a kiss. Returning her mouth to
the vicinity
of my ear she continued softly, "Before long I hope
it's me that's
full."
I tried...,
unsuccessfully, not to react, but I was only too
aware of the
hard swelling that pressed against her thigh as I
helped her into
the car.
"Be careful
of your legs. You'll have to ride with that shotgun
between your
knees."
"That will only
be a preview, I hope," she said smiling up.
As I watched
her settle herself into the seat, I was only too
aware that she
had eagerly straddled the Model 870 Remington 12-
gauge that was
locked to the dashboard by the barrel. I also
paid particular
attention to the long, lean, well proportioned
leg that was
exposed below the hem of my ratty raincoat. All the
way from her
ankle to way above the middle of her thigh.
She watched
my eyes caress her long legs. Then she coyly lowered
her eyes, and
tugged at the raincoat in a very unsuccessful
attempt to cover
herself.
I moved the
car out of the parking lot, to the edge of the
highway, where
I stopped, and checked carefully before pulling
out onto the
deserted road, thinking traffic was awfully light
to be only 11:15.
Concentrating
around the edges of a light buzz from the booze, I
drove five miles
or so, and then turned off onto the airport
bypass.
Keeping my mind on the road was getting difficult. Not
only had the
booze reached over from the back seat and mugged me,
but Candice
wasn't helping a bit. She was sitting right beside
him; spraddle-legged.
Sometime or another, she had unbuttoned my
rain coat, and
was running her hands over her barely covered
breasts.
Like I said.
I don't know exactly when she'd done it. But, in
the 'tur-let'
I guess, she'd ditched the knit dress, and changed
into my raincoat.
And then some place between the time I'd
turned out onto
the highway, and when I'd made the turn toward
the airport,
but regardless - she'd unbuttoned it, and all that
prevented the
bounty of her upper body from swinging free was a
light, lacy,
almost transparent bra. And below the waist....
All I could
see in the shadows was an equally lacy garter belt,
pressing into,
and looping around those porno-image-producing
hips of hers.
Leon's eyes
followed the couple as they made their way from
the bar into
the parking lot. He'd moved to the window, and
watched with
interest as Eric helped her into the car. Then, he
carefully followed
them when they pulled away from "The Broken
Drum."
Every time he saw the sub-title to the joint's name he had
to laugh...
"The Broken Drum" (You can't Beat it)... Somehow,
even as corny
as it was, the damn thing cracked him up.
When Eric's car started to make the turn onto the Airport
Bypass, Leon
pulled to the side of the road, and clicked on his
emergency flashers.
He climbed out, and watched the tail lights
until he saw
them flare briefly, and then turn into the police
pistol range.
As he waited to be sure Eric was not using the dirt road as
a convenient
turnaround, he opened the trunk of his car, and
pulled out a
battered leather case. Bodo had often asked him to
work surveillance
on somebody, discreetly following and recording
their activities;
so using the camera to make a record of Eric
and Candice's
activities of the evening was almost second nature.
He spun the rewind knob. Happily there was no resistance
indicating the
camera was loaded. He popped the back open, and
loaded it with
industrial grade, high speed infrared film. After
re-latching
the camera, he double-checked the data recording
back, and smiled
as he noted both the time and date were correct.
He took his time, sure that Eric would be able to entertain
himself for
a while, as he attached a 80-270mm zoom lens, and
mounted the
strobe that was already equipped with a heavy dark
red filter.
Leon smiled to himself, as climbed back into the car and
drove a hundred
yards past the pistol range road. Then he pulled
in under some
trees, and began silently threading his way through
the dense undergrowth
that shielded the range from the road and
vice versa.
When I pulled
the car to a stop, I have to say, I was both
shocked and
amazed by Candice's reaction. She left no question
in my mind as
to just what was expected of me in these
circumstance.
She'd made it crystal clear during the drive from
the Broken Drum
that she had serious sex on her mind.
As soon as we
were parked, she climbed out of the car, walked
over to a nearby
picnic table, and proceeded to shrug off the
raincoat that
had only covered her arms and shoulders, and then
unclipped the
tiny fastener that held the two sides of her filmy
bra together.
Candice's spectacular,
firm breasts were free, and I approached
her, and reached
for them. Knowing what she liked, she quickly
turned around,
pressing her sleek ass into my already hard
crotch.
Since Mama didn't raise any dummies, I reached around
and took a tit
in each hand.
Candice groaned
with pleasure, when my hands grasped those tender
globes, and
then she purred, "Pinch my nipples.. PLEASE!"
I was used to
following orders, so her request didn't cause me
any undue concern.
Almost eagerly I complied, and gripped her
already engorged
nipples firmly between his thumb and
forefingers.
"Harder, damn
you!"
I increased
the pressure, and she moaned, pressing her ass even
harder against
my now fully aroused cock, as she writhed. To add
to her arousal,
I firmly tugged and twisted her nipples, and she
went wild...
"Oh, God!,
Oh God, Yesss," she hissed. "This'll teach him.
Oh, yesss, do
it, Do it!"
Leon could hear them as he made his way through the brush
that surrounded
the pistol range, and he hoped that he would not
be too late
to capture whatever they we doing on film. He
thought having
something on film to use against that fucking
detective might
be good insurance.
Besides, from the racket she was making, he might get some
shots that would
keep him company.... on those nights his sexy
young neighbor
got his motor running... which was most nights....
Especially now
that he had his telescope.
Candice shrugged
herself free of my clutching hands, and in two
steps was sitting
on the picnic table. One foot resting on the
bench seat,
and the other planted on the table top. She was
leaning back
on her elbows when she said, "Eric..., you never had
dessert."
She was right.
Neither of us had. But, the night was still
young!
I stepped up
to the plate (well, the picnic bench really);
prepared to
hit a home run (okay, at least a double, then). The
bench of the
picnic table was still damp from the rain, but I was
doin' it for
the Gipper.... or at least my best to her gripper.
I leaned forward,
and lay the side of my face on her firm
stomach, while
my hands were busy locating, and then stroking
their way up
her thighs. Her musky scent, signaling her
readiness wafted
into my nostrils, and raised my temperature even
higher.
She was already shivering, and since the night was warm,
I was sure it
wasn't from the cold.
In a series
of coordinated moves I hadn't used in a while, I used
my fingers to
open her petal-like lips, and ran my tongue the
full length
of her soaking snatch. She came. Bucking and
gasping, her
hips rocked in all directions at once, as they tried
(successfully,
I might add) to keep my sucking, licking mouth on
(or at least
very close) to her clitoris.
When Leon stepped quietly out of the woods, what to his
wondering eyes
should appear, but a stark naked blonde with the
guy's face in
her puss...
The way they were carrying on, he had to be careful, but not
silent, as he
moved around in the dark. Smoothly, he lifted the
camera to his
eye, and cranked off about 5 shots. Each of them
from a slightly
different perspective, and all of them making use
of the close-up
capability of the zoom lens. Oh, yeah.......
Some mighty
hot shots.
"Wait...
Let me breathe, you bastard!" she grinned down at me.
I had to think
for a second about letting WHO breathe. I mean,
it was my nose
and mouth that she was pressing into her pulsating
gash.
And then I understood. It was that last orgasm that
seemed to grow
larger and more all encompassing, as it crashed
through her
like a surfer's dream wave at Wakiki.
"Break time?"
I asked, as I rested my face on her thigh, and
trailed my fingers
through her thick blonde thatch.
"No, you son-of-a-bitch,"
she laughed quietly. "It's time for
the main event."
She turned and in two steps was sitting on the
picnic table.
One foot resting on the bench seat, and the other
planted on the
table top. "That is.... If you're you're not all
mouth."
She motioned
for me to move off the bench, and I did. I slid
off, and took
a step back, as she scooted forward, and sat,
facing me, in
the same spot I had just vacated.
I was standing
between her wide-spread knees, so it was no
problem for
me to reach out and pull her head against my belly.
She rested there
for a few moments, and then she leaned back and
reached for
my belt.
With sure, deliberate
motions, I was unbuckled and unzipped. My
trousers went
south, landing in twin wrinkled piles around my
ankles.
My boxers went next.
She reached
out, and placed her hand, palm up, under 'Old
Faithful', and
just let him lie there.
"Eric, this
is not a snub-nosed pistol. It's a cannon."
"I'm glad you
like it," I answered breathlessly. (I mean, it's
hard (pardon
the expression) not to be breathless when you're
standing between
a naked lady's knees, and she's complimenting
you on the caliber
of your weapon as well as the length of it's
barrel).
She leaned forward,
running the tip of her tongue around the
head, and then
sucked about half it's length into her mouth. Her
tongue was doing
the Tango, or the Cha Cha, as her firm lips
massaged it.
I, having nothing better to do with them, put my
hands on the
back of her head, and tried to help her with the
back and forth,
in and out, up and down...
"Oh no you don't,"
she hissed around my joint, as her eyes
flashed up at
me. Her words were really more like 'owww, nough
jew doughwwnt',
but I got the message. Instead of 'helping' I
started stroking
that long blonde hair.
Leon knew the
pictures were going to be great. Him going
down on her,
and then her trying to suck start his Harley. The
photos would
give him many nights of pleasant memories, and a
little something
to use if this detective ever tried running a
game on him.
Candice knew
exactly what she was doing down there. More than
once she had
me close to the brink, but she slowed down, and let
me recover.
Then she started giving me head in earnest. Pumping
with her lips,
tickling with her tongue, and cupping my balls
with one hand
as her sharp finger nails raked my inner thighs.
Suddenly she
stopped, and said, "We'll do it like this later. I
want you to
cum in me the first time..."
Was I mad?
Was I disappointed? Hell no!! Face is face, but
pussy is pussy.....
And given a choice, the fuzzy clam will win
EVERY time.
I stepped back,
and Candice stood up momentarily. I say
momentarily,
because that's about how long it took for her to
turn around,
spread her long beautiful legs, bend at the waist,
and present
her gorgeous sculpted ass. Even in the subdued
light, her pussy
glistened with her juice. I stepped up to the
plate.
My bat was in
her box (to continue the simile), and I pressed
on (at least
in). She shifted her weight from leg to leg
as I penetrated
her pussy. When I had been completely engulfed,
I withdrew,
until only the tiniest edge of the tip remained
inside, and
then slowly entered her again. A perfect fit!
As I pounded
into her I heard mewing sounds, gasps, groans and I
think at least
one 'OOOhhhh GGoddddddd!' My hips were jerking
back and forth
in an ancient rhythm, providing a driving bass
beat, while
she maintained the tempo, and pulsed wildly following
a slightly different
but VERY complimentary score. The composer
was a master,
because instead of slowing, the beat got faster and
wilder, as we
both drove toward a crashing crescendo.
My balls tightened,
my cock swelled (and she commented) and then
gushed - over
and over, shooting streams of hot sperm deep into
her pussy, that
spasmed and milked me with muscular contractions.
When our climaxes
(climaxi ?) had passes, I stayed buried deep
inside her hot
box, thrusting minutely, not wanting the moment to
pass...
Finally, she said, "Okay, Eric... You'll need a few
minutes to recover,
before you can do THAT again. Let's rest
someplace where
we won't get splinters in our asses."
We dressed,
more or less, because Candice was still wearing only
my raincoat,
fired up the Chevy and drove back toward the Broken
Drum.
It was awfully quiet in the car, as we both seemed alone
with our thoughts.
My right hand was entwined with hers as I
steered with
my left, and her head rested softly on my shoulder.
"Mmmmmm, that
was nice," she said softly when were a block or so
from the 'Drum'.
"Sure was,"
I answered, as my eyes flicked up to the rear view
mirror.
I thought I'd seen a car following us when we turned off
the airport
bypass onto the highway.
"Everything
all right? You seem awfully quiet? she asked.
"No, everything's
fine... In fact wonderful," I replied. "I'm
just having
a hard time believing this evening."
"Me too," she
said. Then in a little firmer voice she continued,
"I suppose it's
back to the wife and rug-rats for you."
It wasn't a
question. But, it did demand an answer, so I gave
her one.
"Nope... It's back to my apartment for a couple of
drinks and then
to bed."
"Alone......
I can't believe that."
"It's true...
"
"Not tonight
it's not." The words were louder, more cheerful.
Almost relieved.
"That is, you don't have to sleep alone
tonight, unless
you want to....."
Again, not a
question. Not a request. Just an open ended
statement that
I could pick up and run with.... And I made like
O.J. Simpson.
"You're serious, aren't you?" I asked.
"Why don't we
go to your place, and I show you how serious I am."
I flipped a
U-ey, through a closed Texaco station, and then
ducked through
a couple of side streets and charged down the ramp
onto the Interstate.
I squeezed her hand, and said, "Candi.. You
don't mind if
I call you Candi, do you?"
"Call me anything
you want, Eric. Just don't make me go home."
"Candi, things
like this just don't happen to me...." I sputtered
lamely.
"Like this?"
she asked, as she released my hand and jammed it
against her
dripping cunt.
My fingers began
to explore all her wonderful creases and
crevices, and
I was having a HARD (at least a difficult) time
keeping the
Chevy between the white lines, and the rain had
started again.
"Like any of this," I tried to continue the
thought.
"Like meeting somebody like you, and having a bite, and
then... and
then going off with them like a horny teenager to
park...."
"If that was
parking," she said, as she shifted up onto one
cheek, and pushed
my fingers into her, "you had a much more
exciting teenagerhood
than I did."
My exit was
coming, up, so I tried to concentrate. Shit, if I
overshot, and
missed it the next one was five more miles. I
swerved across
two puddle filled lanes, and blasted up to the
stop at the
top of the exit ramp in a cloud of spin-drift, while
on a whole other
level of consciousness, my fingers pressed into
her, massaging
the interior of her snatch.
It was only
a couple of blocks to my place, and I managed to get
us there through
the downpour in one piece. Looking back, I'm
not sure how,
but if we'd had an accident, they'd have had to
chop my arm
off at the elbow, and my fingers would have been
coming out her
nose; she was that slick and eager.
Once in my apartment,
we didn't waste much time. She made a
couple of comments
about how surprised she was that the place
wasn't a mess,
but a 'Better Homes and Gardens' tour wasn't high
on our collective
agendas. I pointed her at the 'tur-let' and
the bedroom,
and ducked into the kitchen to mix a couple of
drinks.
I didn't know if she needed one, but I sure did!
When I made
it to the bedroom, she was already in bed, with just
the sheet covering
her, slim sexy form. I'd dropped my suit
coat in the
dining room, draping it over a chair, like usual, so
I put my 9MM
on the closet shelf, and unbuckled the shoulder-rig.
The leather
and elastic monstrosity went on top of the dresser.
I sat on the
edge of the bed and slipped off my shoes, very aware
of being observed.
Then the shirt went into the dirty clothes
basket, and
my pants were quickly hung over the corner of the
door.
The sound of
windblown rain against the window, and its shadows
generated by
the streetlight across the parking area moved over
the room.
We snuggled closer together under the covers, as we
savored the
warmth of our bodies meeting, and touching. My arm
was over her
side, pulling her back into me, and my hand cupped
her breast softly.
She sighed softly,
as she felt my lips lightly grazing the back
of her neck,
working slowly down to the tops of her shoulders.
My breath is
warm and arousing, making her arch back into me. I
felt her response,
knowing that she was not yet fully ready.
My lips begin
moving around the side of her neck, just lightly
kissing her
with soft, dry kisses that worked their way up her
neck, until
they were just below her ear.
She felt my
breath flowing around her ear, then a long, slow
kiss, my lips
wide, slowly closing, caressing her neck just below
her ear. She
moaned softly, and moved against me in a soft,
sensual undulation.
Her eyes were barely open, but she had a sexy
smile on her
face.
My tongue traced
the edge of her ear, and her nails lightly raked
my thigh as
she let out a long moan.
My fingers closed
over her nipple, rolling it between my fingers
the way I knew
she liked it. Another long moan escaped her lips,
this time with
a long breath. I could feel her nipple standing
tall..., hard
and eager for more attention.
She rolled into
me, turning half onto her back, turning her face
toward me. My
hand left her breast and slid down the center of
her chest, flat
palmed to spread warmth through her. Our lips
met, gently.
Hers were so soft, sensually warm. We kissed
briefly again,
a second time, lingering longer, playing our lips
over each other,
slowly building our passions.
Without words
or cues, we knew just when the tempo of our love
should change.
Our lips parted, our mouths came together, and her
tongue flowed
into my mouth. Somehow feeling even more intimate
than sex.
Our tongues danced, together celebrating our new found
closeness.
We felt our bodies melt together, heat and radiant
warmth, flowed
through us. It seemed to last forever, but not
long enough.
Her hand slipped
through my hair and I felt her give herself to
me. My lips
worked down her throat, across the sensitive skin,
warming her
with my breath.
We moved and
she lay on her back, with an arm sliding under my
upraised chest
to pull me closer.
I moved down,
kissing her chest, licking her lightly where her
breasts blended
into her chest. She felt my lips between her
breasts, then
on their sides. I pulled the covers over my head,
to keep the
warm air inside. In the darkness of our private cave
I found her
firm breast and licked around its outside edge,
tracing it with
my tongue. I felt her press herself toward me as
my tongue moved
underneath, teasing the soft, sensitive skin
there. I knew
what she wanted me to do, and I would... in time.
My lips nipped
at her other nipple, pulling on the soft skin,
playing with
her. I could sense she was getting impatient, but
still demanding
more. I let my hair tickle one breast as I turned
my mouth back
to the other. She felt my tongue under the breast,
licking upwards
over the curve. The warm wetness excited her as I
moved closer
to her nipple.
My tongue flicked
upwards, right past her hard, stiff nipple,
flicking it.
Slowly I circled the edge of her areola, then
closed my lips
around it, sucking, and nipping.
My