Kevin Harding - Twice As Nice Nymph

"Do you want to fuck me now?"

"Uh huh."

I can feel his prick throbbing in my hand. He rocks on his legs. He is trembling. "I'll eat you first," I say. I lean forward and take his cock between my lips.

I lick the stickiness from the tip and start to suck him.

His cock feels good filling my mouth. I put my arms around him and grip the smooth hard cheeks of his ass.

I suck him deeper.

It excites me to feel his whole body quivering.

He thrusts himself toward me. I feel his cum spurt against my tongue and the roof of my mouth.

I take it all, swallow it. My mouth my throat my stomach is now full of his warm scum.

I draw his prick out of my mouth and press kisses all along its length. I lick the last of his cum from the tip.

I lie back on the chair so that he can eat me. I am sleek with wetness. He has never kissed my cunt before and I am eager for the touch of his lips, his tongue. I feel his mouth against the puff of hair on my mound. He buries his face in deep against me. I can feel the shape of his mouth, his nose, his chin, his tongue.

I grasp his arms, slide my hands over his tight muscled biceps, grip them. He eats me and I cum…

At the last moment, I hear him say it that he loves me. The words sound as if they come from a great distance. They destroy it. I know that it is all a lie. We are only a cock and a cunt wallowing in the wetness of our own cum. I am a bitch and he is almost twenty. He is only an illusion of an illusion. But I am real. I am a slut, a whore, a cunt. I have a dream of myself I see myself somewhere on a puffy cloud. But my wings have been cut and I cannot get to it. It is a lie. I hear his faint words echo…

"Let me up," I say. "I want to get my cigarettes."

The feeling of being alone closes in.

I rent an apartment in the French Quarter the next day. The phone rings several times before I can check out of the hotel but I don't answer it. I don't want to talk to him.

The apartment is on Dauphine Street, a block from Bourbon. It is quiet there, just what I want. My rooms are on the third floor. I stand on the balcony in the warm sun and look down at the people moving slowly along the sidewalk. A pigeon lands on the rail of a balcony a few doors down from mine. I try to coax it over to my balcony but it ignores me, then flies away. I think about putting out some food for it.

I go back inside. The furniture is old and worn but it looks good to me because it is in my apartment. I think of a few pieces I will add here and there. I rub my foot across a threadbare spot in the carpet. I will replace that. I enjoy the feeling of being in my own place and making plans to change it.

I take a short nap in the bedroom, then go out to shop. It feels nice to have money to buy things. I spend the rest of the day shopping. I pick out a chair and a table and a new mattress. I order it all to be delivered. I see other things that I will buy later. I buy a dark blue jersey dress that hugs my breasts. It feels good to be starting everything all over. I stop in a liquor store and buy a quart of bourbon and some fancy mixes. At the grocery store I pick out the most expensive steak. When I get back to my apartment I have to make two trips up from the car to carry it all in.

I drink whiskey sours until I get a little high, then cook the steak. I make a salad. I put on my new blue dress and eat supper sitting out on the balcony. It is all very pleasant. After my meal I smoke a cigarette and drink coffee and watch the sun sink down behind the buildings across the street. The evening breeze whips up. Lights start to come on in some of the buildings. I feel the night close in. I go back inside. The apartment seems different now in the darkness. Bleak. A little depressing. I turn on all the lights. I make myself another drink. I decide to buy a canary or goldfish or something to keep me company.

I spend the next few days mostly shopping, and by the end of the week, the apartment has a bright nevi look. I buy some paintings and a rich looking gold carpet. And some lovely furniture that blends in nicely with what I had. For the balcony I pick out a rattan set with big tub chairs. I get a canary, too. Evenings, I sit out on the balcony with a Tom Collins or some other fancy drink and watch the crowds pass by. Every night I see a man in the window directly across the street pacing back and forth. I try to guess what is bothering him. I wonder vaguely whether I will ever fuck him.

I listen to the cars and watch the crowds. I wish I were among them. I look as far as I can down the street to where the buildings become a blur, then bring my gaze back and stare down at the sidewalk immediately below. I see a man smiling at something the woman with him has just said. I hear her laugh. I feel a thousand miles from them. I look back into the window across the street but the pacing man is gone. There is a dim light on in his room. He is probably resting on his bed.

I imagine myself phoning him. Hello, my name is Carrie. I live just across the street. If you look out your window, you can see me. That's right, sitting here on the balcony. Why don't you come over and have a drink? We could fuck then afterwards. We could fuck even before we have the drink if you want to. You could tell me about why you pace back and forth all the time tell me what it is that bothers you. I haven't been fucked in more than a week, you know. I've had sort of a holiday from it, been fixing up my place so it looks nice and new. Why don't you come over and I'll show it to you? We'll fuck and I'll eat you if you'd like me to. All right. I'll see you in a few minutes then. You can let yourself in. I'll just sit here on the balcony and wait.

I am suddenly chilly in the evening air and go inside to get a sweater. I see a short pink skirt hanging in my closet and instead of getting the sweater, put on the skirt and a lacy white blouse. I brush my hair and put on lipstick that matches the skirl. I don't put on stockings. I step into the pair of silver high heels that I've brought from home. I stand in front of the mirror, turning this way and that adjusting my clothes. I drape the sweater over my arm, take a last sip of my drink and go out into the night.

It excites me to be back again with the noisy crowds walking along Bourbon Street under the flashing glowing neon lights. Every block or so, some man tries to pick me up but none of them interest me and I walk on rapidly. I come to the shrimp restaurant and go inside. The good-looking black waiter takes my order for a mug of beer. He smiles at me warmly and the feeling goes right to the pit of my stomach. I cross my legs beneath the table and squeeze my. thighs tight together. I wonder why he should stir me so.

I drink my beer and try to catch his eye again as he moves about waiting on other customers. He goes into the kitchen. I sit there for a long time waiting for him to come back out. But he doesn't. Finally I see that another waiter is taking care of his tables. The new waiter asks if I wish to order another beer. I shake my head no and in a few minutes get up and leave.

I look for him along the street, thinking he may have left the shrimp house out some back door. But I don't see him anywhere. I walk on with the crowds. My feet get very hot and tired and I think of just going back to my apartment. But I don't want to be there alone.

I get the idea suddenly of phoning Rae. I could have her over to sit out on the balcony with me and have a drink. I walk on a block or so thinking about it; then step into a telephone booth in a drug store and dig in my purse for the envelope with her number on it. I call her. My heart begins to race a little as I listen to her phone ring.

"Hello… yes… this is.Rae." Her voice is pleasant, husky. She seems happy to get my call. We make plans to meet at the Absinthe House, a famous old bar on Bourbon Street, then to go to my apartment from there.