Jon Reskind - Sir Launcelot volume 1

This was the U.S., where older women never fell in love with younger men, unless they were fools, jet-setters, or harlots… and she felt that she hardly fitted into any of the three categories.

Yet, from the very beginning, from the first day Cal had taken the caretaker's job on Jamey's estate, the galvanic sensations had passed between them. He'd stopped her as she was carrying boxes into their bungalow and smiled.

"I'm Jamey Halo," he'd said. He had grinned lopsidedly, his dark hair long and waved. His eyes were an azure-blue and filled with tiny hazel flecks that began to swirl excitedly as he spoke. "Can I carry that?"

"Thank you, no," she'd replied, dropping her own gaze from his probing stare, sensing the slight flush to her face; then, Nadine had come with a smaller box and Susan had welcomed the interruption.

But it had never changed. She had only to look into his desire-filled, handsome young face to feel her own unwanted, sensual passion rising, and it seemed that he'd managed to come to the bungalow always when Cal was elsewhere. He had even made over Nadine, who, at thirteen was the flowering equivalent of most girls three years her senior, and this, she felt certain, he did only to impress the mother. Still, nothing had come of it… simply because the mother had refused to let it. Cal was her husband and she belonged to him, regardless of his lack of affection. Her oriental upbringing would never permit infidelity; she would give her life for her husband, and she would die defending her loyalty to the vows she had taken.

Again, Susan heard a light stir behind the screen, waited silently, and was pleased at the sound of an even, deep breathing once more. Her darling was going to need all the rest she could get, with what was before her. Beauty contests were more strenuous than the average girl believed, both mentally and physically, but there was nothing that would add to necessary confidence more than a few beauty contest credits to an aspiring young actress, even if one was only Miss Parksburg. Jamey had inspired the idea, and both Nadine and she herself had been elated with it. After all, she had to start somewhere… and success wasn't easily come by, Jamey had reminded them, and Susan didn't ever want her beautiful daughter to find herself in the same position her mother was in at that very moment. She had, in fact, welcomed the idea with open arms; it meant a sound and exciting existence for her darling… if only she didn't get waylaid by some foolish puppy-love.

Thinking about that, Susan shivered with the cold little ripple of clamminess that passed over her. She drank from her cup and inhaled the cigarette smoke deeply. Sex, she thought… sex between her husband and herself had been a horror, when she had so innocently expected some thing beautiful. Now, she tried to recall the exquisite loveliness of her mother's words regarding the delicious sexual-love of marriage… but somehow, they choked in her throat, and the beauty of the vision she had endeavored to picture became distorted.

Had it ever been beautiful between them… even good? She couldn't remember a time. Instead, her mind filled with Cal, drunk, his wickedly hard and massive, thick, long male member poised above her unready and unwanting vagina, her legs held high and wide-apart obscenely, knees pressing into her full, erect breasts, while he cradled himself for the impalement… then, the near-unbelievable viciousness of his thrust as he plunged his huge rapacious cudgel into her barely moist, sensitive flesh unmercifully.

Invariably, she would scream, and invariably he would laugh sadistically, ramming the blunt head like a madman from the very beginning, his heavy-veined rod of rigid, swollen flesh sinking to its full depths inside her snug passage and battering her small-mouthed womb and cervix, until the pain would become almost weirdly bearable, even pleasurable in her masochistic, subjugated state, and sparks of excitement would begin to ignite within her; then, it would be over… al ways over, like that… and he would gush into her as she wanted him to… but never, never so soon.

Dear God… she would suck him the way he had taught her, while he pillaged her genitals with his tongue, and forever, she had felt certain that this time it would happen… but then he would shoot his hot, white, sweet-tasting sperm into her mouth and throat, and momentarily she wouldn't care. His ejaculation had been all that she'd waited for, just as when he placed it in her rectum… or between her breasts and she would slip her warm lips over its massive head when he was ready to cum.

Damn! What was she doing? She was working herself up into something by just thinking, that's what she was doing. She'd better get hold of her self. She took a long pull from her cigarette, following that with a draught of coffee. Really, if she wanted to face it, Jamey's visit last night was the inspiration. He'd come to see the apartment he'd said, and with Nadine off to the movies, it had nearly happened. She'd had all she could do to keep from giving in, and even then, it had gone way beyond what she'd promised herself.

She hadn't expected anyone and had just bathed. She was getting out of the tub when the knock came, and had quickly tossed her favorite, old chenille robe around her, tying it tight and assuring herself it was close around her throat. Her mid-back-length hair she had piled onto the crown of her head and she wore a towel wrapped strategically around it. She had felt like an idiot answering the door that way, but the caller was insistent with his knuckles and she'd responded just a bit irked, wondering if this new down-town location was going to bring them all of the door-to-door salesmen in the world.

"Jamey! Wh-what're you doing here?" Her delightful smile was automatic. "I-I obviously didn't expect anyone… let alone you."

"Obviously," he grinned. "Well… aren't you going to ask me in? I came to see the new abode."

"Y-Yes… yes, of course, come in," she stammered, still surprised at the sight of his presence, but more embarrassed with her own appearance. "I-I just took a bath…"

"Oh? If I'd known, I'd have come earlier… maybe even have gotten to wash your back," he said, moving inside as she closed the door behind him. He was still smiling. He watched the tinge of blood rush into her cheeks, an easily detected sight with her alabaster like skin, and one that always delighted him.

Hell, she was absolutely stunning, he thought. Of all the women he had ever seen, known, and made love to in his prime young existence, she had to be the most beautiful and desirable. His brain raced wildly. What a stupid bastard Cal Sheldon had been. He'd plucked a gem and traded it for a poor facsimile. And Jamey'd thought that Elaine Trent represented beauty when he'd laid her at the Roadhouse… but Christ, there was no comparison. Thirty-one? She looked younger than her own daughter!

"Why don't you sit down, Jamey, while I slip on something…" she was saying, still embarrassed by his unexpected call.

"I'd rather help you," he said, making no move toward accepting her offer to a chair. "As a matter of fact, I prefer you remain as-is. You're lovely when you're natural, Susan… but then, you're always lovely."

It seemed that the redness wouldn't leave her cheeks. She couldn't remember when she'd ever felt quite so embarrassed, nor quite so excited.

Dear God, he was young and handsome! And the wickedness of it was, that she never felt her superior age with him… but more like a teen-ager, or maybe it was that he became older, more mature, when he was with her.

"You're at your best tonight, I see," she heard herself say, surprised at her own repartee. She smiled. "Can I fix you a drink?"

"If I can help."

"You can't. Sit in that chair and I'll play hostess," she said, pretending firmness.