smoothing my hands over her nice flesh, around the orbs of her buttocks, her long thighs and right up to her clipped nest of pubic hair. I smiled when I remembered that she told me one time she kept them trimmed because some of her clients were always complaining that they got caught in their teeth otherwise.
“Cindy… oh, darling, you have no idea what you're doing for me…,” I half moaned in ecstasy.
I just had the most wonderful, the most languorous feeling, that I felt I had to do something in return. I wanted to do something in return. I had never been fond of going down on a girl, although I had done it at parties. But this wasn't just any girl out for kicks. This was Cindy, who was doing so very much for me.
Working very easily, and in just a wonderfully relaxed mood of continued stimulation, I pulled Cindy's left leg over my head and then put my arms around her buttocks, bringing her crotch down to my face. I had the feeling that I would enjoy this. It was not a hot, dirty, violently passionate feeling, but something akin to affection or maybe even love. I know that I felt a great desire to reciprocate.
“No… no, honey,” she objected when my tongue tried to enter her, “You… you don't understand how I feel about you.”
“But why?” I asked her, warming so wonderfully to her embrace as she came back up to lay beside me, feeling my own warmth from her lips that kissed me hard. “I want to make you feel happy too.
“Denise, this may sound funny as hell to you,” Cindy said, holding my face in her hands and looking at me in the tenderest and most loving way, “I have a funny thing about you… about any woman I've ever liked. I don't need reciprocation… not that way. Denise, I've been a dyke before. I put in a whole year in the one hundred percent gay crowd. I went through the whole bit-the nervous breakdown, the psychiatrist, all that jazz. I'm cured. I don't need women anymore. Only there's a little bit left over you never can get rid of. If you need me, honey, I can need you. Understand?”
“No… I don't think so,” I answered her honestly, “What… or how, do you get your pleasure if you just go down on me?”
“Oh, hell, I can't explain it, Denise,” she threw up a hand in a gesture of resignation, then took two cigarettes from a pack on the night table and lit them. “I guess… I know how much you need it, because I've been down that road before. I know what loneliness is. I know what it means to be had by people and have your whole life torn apart because men have used you. We're pretty much alike in a lot of ways. The only difference is I've found a way to beat it and you haven't.”
I tried to think this over, parting my lips briefly for her to insert the lighted cigarette. Was she implying that I was really a Lesbian? I was afraid to delve into the subject further, but I was really interested in knowing what she had found out about herself with this psychoanalysis.
“Do you think I'm really a Lesbian, Cindy?” I decided to ask her outright.
“Darling, we all have a homosexual component to our personality,” she answered me in a way that was designed to casually placate my fears. “With some of us, it's greater than with others. If you worry about the thing, you can get a lot worse hang up than if you just give in to the urge when it comes along. What I mean is, don't go out looking for a girl to screw. But if it comes along, and you like it, then have all the kicks you can get.”
“Oh, great,” I commented with a nervous laugh, welcoming her kiss on my forehead. “You mean, I'm the nut because I came to you looking for it. You… you're all right since you didn't go hunting for a girl.”
“Denise, darling, I don't say that either one of us is right or wrong,” Cindy said seriously, propping up on an elbow to look at me with an admiring smile. “You needed some loving because you were starved for it, and I was the most available thing. I gave you an open invitation a long time ago. And I like you, honey. I like you too damn much, but I'm smart enough now to get the most out of a good thing and not get a hang up.”
“Why… why don't you want me to reciprocate?”
“I don't know!” she raised her voice a moment, then smiled apologetically and lifted one of my breasts to her mouth for a kiss, “I guess it's a hang-up with me. I know I just adore eating you and I could stay down between your legs all day. In fact, I can think of some more comfortable positions. I think we should stay here and sleep together, and I'll go to sleep with my head right down there and if you wake up and need me, you just hit my butt a couple of times and I'll suck you off again. Yeah, I think it sounds crazy too, Denise, only that's the way I feel.”
“You only want to please me… make me have orgasms? You don't even want me to finger you?”
“Not particularly,” Cindy confessed frankly. “I get so much satisfaction you wouldn't believe it, when I eat you or get you off some other way. I mean, I really want to do it, honey. I dunno. I like you, I guess. But I wouldn't want it to get serious.”
“Well… who do you get serious with, Cindy?” I asked, still puzzled, “How do you get your kicks?”
“With my boyfriend,” she replied, hugging me so that our breasts pressed against each other and rolled around. “He eats me a lot and he screws me a lot. Some of the clowns who come in for their 50 dollar sessions can make me go off too… sometimes. With you… I just like doing it to you. Want some more?”
“Later maybe,” I answered so naturally, stretching my arms and feeling so good.
“Okay, so we'll have a drink and talk now. Oh, hell! There goes the door, honey. It's this guy from New York, he wants about a ten minute blow-job. I'll do it in the living room. You wait here.”
When Cindy had finished her business with the man in the living room, I had taken a quick shower and was sitting on the edge of the bed in just my slip. She brought in two tall frosted Collins and I chatted with her briefly while she showered too. She told me she had cancelled her other dates for the afternoon and we could have supper out together and then come back here.
It was really a wonderful evening, and I got absolutely everything off my chest that was bothering me. Cindy agreed that Bob had taken me for a nice ride the past summer, but there was a doubt in her mind that he had actually had a sex relation with Kathy. It could have been her way of showing resentment, by telling me she had been with him since she knew that I suspected it.
We stayed up talking until midnight, plotting my new course of getting back into the mainstream of life. Cindy felt that the best thing for me to do was to pick right up where I had left off and start swinging and seeing men as clients on a part-time basis again. She promised to put me in touch with the right people as a starter and invited me to two good parties that upcoming weekend.
“What was it the psychiatrist told you, Cindy?” I asked as it was getting so late I knew I had to be going. “Did he discover why you were the way you were?”
“Everybody's different, only I guess we do have a lot in common. Sometimes you don't even like to admit or talk about the things from so far back.”
“But tell me, Cindy! You're making it sound horrible… filling me with suspense,” I pleaded with her. “You think you know what my trouble might be, don't you? You know why I'm this way…”
“When was the last time you saw your mother?”
“My mother?” I questioned her seriously, “Why… almost a year, I guess. I've never told her any of my problems. She wouldn't understand. I was a spoiled brat. You know what I mean-her darling sweet baby-doll and all that.”
“Did your mother ever try to eat you when you were very young?”
“Oh… oh, Cindy!” I almost shrieked back in pure disgust, “What an awful thing to say. Of course not.”
“Mine did,” she offered as a casual explanation, shrugging her shoulders as if resigned to whatever it was. “When I was three years old, she used to eat me every night when she gave me a bath.”
“Cindy… no! How… how could you even remember what happened when you were three?”
“I never did… until I was psychoanalyzed.”
Chapter Six
I refused to accept the idea that Cindy's problem had any connection with my own, and she was nice enough not to press it. She did think it might help me to pay a visit to her psychiatrist, but I was more scared than ever now to find out about myself.
Instead, I took readily to her advice about picking up my life where I had left it when Bob came along. I devised what I called a work-pleasure ratio, relegating certain hours to school and the attendant responsibilities
