Carole Remy - Twelve Nights

“How did you get the tickets?”

“A radio contest. They’re for December 13. That’s a Saturday. Do you think you can come?”

Aggie thought about the deception Angela had pretty much forced upon her. She thought about the library, and Andrew. Then she thought of her father and the brandy in his coffee. Angela was family. More, she was her twin. It was time to get reacquainted. She sat up and hugged Angela.

“Sure,” she agreed. “Let’s go to Vancouver. How long can we stay?”

“The ticket is open ended,” Angela explained. “We can stay as long as we like.”

“What about your job?”

“I’m taking some holidays. Can you get some time too?”

“Andrew and I are planning to go to England next summer.” Aggie looked at her twin. Her sister’s eyes had a desperate longing in them that she couldn’t resist. “I’ll take a few days.”

Jimmy Buko was a man of high emotion. He liked to say that he lived life at two speeds: flat out and faster. He made money with passionate intensity. He spent generously but without undue self-indulgence. Since he was fourteen, his need for sex had outstripped all available supply. With rigid self-control, he avoided inflicting himself and his insatiable needs on ‘good’ women and limited himself to one high class call girl a week. Tonight was the night.

“I want a new girl,” he growled into the phone.

“Bambi was looking forward to tonight.”

“No. Send somebody new. Tall with red hair.”

“I do have a new girl, Amber.”

“Does anybody have a real name?”

“You can call your girl any name you choose, Mr. Buko.”

“Send Amber, but tell her that I want her to introduce herself by her real name. Otherwise she’s out the door.”

“Of course, Mr. Buko. She’ll come to room 1036 of the Hyatt at ten pm.”

Jimmy hung up without saying goodbye. The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and signatures. At the end of the day, his secretary reported that the companies’ holdings were now worth $527,468,124 and change, up $1,417,892 from the previous close. A good day.

Jimmy went upstairs to his personal suite and changed into a jogging suit. He decided to walk along the seawall and up Burrard to the hotel. He’d stop in a small Hungarian restaurant along the way for goulash. Jimmy cherished his anonymity. The day he couldn’t walk into a restaurant without fuss was the day he’d move from Vancouver.

A private elevator delivered Jimmy to the apartment lobby. Twenty feet high, the expanse was lit by a massive crystal chandelier. The lobby sat several feet above the street that separated it from the ocean and offered a sweeping view of English Bay. Jimmy stepped out the door and inhaled the crisp fall air. For once, it wasn’t raining. To the right a massive rock fountain gurgled in a raked sand garden. Jimmy reached into his pocket and dropped a handful of change into the pool at the bottom of the rock. At night, street people came and gathered the change, for some their only source of income.

Jimmy strode across the narrow street as cars halted to give him passage. Good for Vancouver. Though it was the Canadian way, nobody stopped like that in Toronto anymore. The seawall encircled Stanley Park, a large endowment of heavily treed land on a peninsula in the center of the city. Jimmy had chosen for his apartment and office the two top floors of the waterfront building closest to the park. To the tall white angular building Jimmy had added five huge rounded bays on his personal top floor. They housed living, dining bed and bath rooms and a circular pool with surrounding track. Jimmy enjoyed the phallic symbolism of his bulbous topped building.

The water of English Bay was calm and gray, almost sullen. The sky was cloudy and the brown leaves sodden underfoot. Jimmy inhaled the salt aroma of decaying plant and fish life as nature shut down the bay for the winter. Barnacle encrusted rocks crowded the beach in front of the apartment, though a few hundred yards away the expanse became a sandy public playpen each summer. Jimmy preferred his rocks.

By the time he arrived at the Hyatt it was 9:30. Jimmy felt invigorated by his walk and pleasantly full of goulash. An effort of will kept his cock at half-mast, though he needed the sex tonight even more than usual. He supposed it was the newspaper ad. Richard and Danny had narrowed the list to twenty and the interviews would start in eight days. Twelve straight days of sex. He would choose a strong woman.

Promptly at ten o’clock he heard a knock on the door of the suite.

“Hello,” the young woman smiled as he opened the door. She looked to Jimmy like she was about twenty-five years old. She extended her hand. “My name is Monica Standish.”

Her handshake was as firm as her high breasts.

“Come in, Monica,” Jimmy held onto her hand as she stepped through the door. His eyes liked the inventory. Red hair that smelled faintly of flowers. A simple black dress, only sexy because of the body underneath. And the body — long slim legs, no waist to speak of, those high breasts, squarely erect shoulders. Her face was pretty but not striking, rounded chin, soft lips in a small mouth, bright green eyes — probably contacts, a simple nose. Jimmy liked her.

“So are you Amber?” he asked.

She shrugged. “That’s the name I usually use. You said you wanted my real name.”

“I’m Jimmy Buko.”

“I know,” she smiled. “What would you like to do tonight, Jimmy?”

Monica turned into Jimmy’s arms and draped one hand on his shoulder. The other found the growing protuberance in his crotch. Jimmy sniffed.

“I like the smell of your hair.”

“It’s the dye.”

“The dye?”

“You said you wanted a redhead.”

“What color is your hair normally?”

“Light brown.”

“You don’t have to dye it next time.”

“Thanks. Actually, I kind of like the red.”

“So do I.”

Jimmy buried his fingers in the shoulder length softness. When he lifted his hands, curls fell like silk off his fingers. Meanwhile her hand was working wonders with his cock.

“Unzip me,” he ordered.

Monica reached both hands down. Somehow she managed to continue fondling even as she worked the zipper down and separated the folds of the jockey shorts. Jimmy sighed as his cock sprang free of the restraints.

“Do you want a quickie for an appetizer?” Monica asked. The girl had done her homework.

Jimmy led her to the bed. She pulled a strip of condoms from her bra and dangled them seductively. Jimmy motioned for her to continue and she unwrapped one rubber and rolled it slowly down his upright organ. Then she stripped off her underpants but left on garter belt and stockings. She hiked her dress up above her waist and lay back spreadeagled. Her high heels made small round dents in the coverlet. Jimmy leaned above her and inserted himself with one hand. She was dripping ready. Her muscles tightened around him and he groaned and began to pump.

“Come quick, lover,” she offered. “We’ll do it slow later.”

Jimmy held himself above her, so that only their genitals touched. He pumped in and out, quickly setting a furious rhythm. Her vagina squeezed and her hips moved up and down in perfect synchrony with him. Almost before it began it was over. Jimmy’s back arched and his eyes squeezed shut as life fluid pumped from his fire hose. He leaned down and kissed the girl on the cheek.

“That was good, Monica,” he complimented her.

“We aim to please, Jimmy,” she teased. He liked her sense of humor.

Jimmy stood up and stripped off his clothes.

“I’m going to take a shower. Do you want to join me?”

“The red will wash out of my hair,” Monica explained. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”