and took his penis in my hands. I felt other hands on me, and another penis pressing against me.
I can’t quite describe what happened next.
Everything happened next.
Right now I can’t bear to think about it How long were we there? An hour, two hours. No more than that.
An hour, two hours.
I fucked all four of the boys, and most of them more than once. It was mostly a matter of turn-taking, one of them being with me while the others watched, but once or twice there were more than one with me at a time, one in my cunt and another in my mouth, different combinations.
I don’t really remember exactly what we did, nor do I remember any differences between the boys. I cannot picture their faces (or any other parts of them) very clearly now in my mind, and can relate them to their individual names and attitudes only by recalling their position in the car, not their roles in the bedroom.
When I wasn’t doing anything active, I sometimes watched them balling Glory. She seemed to get tremendous pleasure out of sex, and to be equally agreeable to whatever the boys had in mind for her, which led me to conclude that she could look forward to a lifetime of uninterrupted popularity. But the poor child seemed incapable of orgasm. She just didn’t come.
How sad.
I, on the other hand, seemed able to come at will.
When the boys had run out of equipment, it was somebody’s idea that Glory and I make love so that they all could watch. This was, let me admit it, an idea that had already occurred to me, although I would not have thought to suggest it. I found the idea very exciting. Her fine body, hostess like my own to all of these boys, as though thus far this afternoon she and I had used them as proxies to ball each other from a distance. Her body, stained with sweat and semen, seemed particularly desirable. And there must have been a small element of challenge there, too; she had not come all afternoon, and for all I knew had not come in all her life, and I felt capable of changing that.
“A fun idea,” I said.
Glory’s eyes turned wary. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know.”
I took a step toward her, smiling.
“I’ve never done that,” she said.
“First times can be fun.”
“Have you ever?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want to do, exactly? I mean-”
“Why don’t you just lie down and see what happens?”
“You want to, you know, to do me?”
“I want to eat you.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Why not say it?”
“I-”
I was enjoying this perhaps more than I should have. It amused me to see the gloss of her exterior shattered by a network of doubt and indecision. It amused me, too, to sense the undercurrent of excitement that transfigured the four boys. I put my hands on Glory’s shoulders and gave her a gentle push. She rolled back on the bed. Pushover, I thought. Priscilla Roundheels Kapp and Glory Pushover.
“Because I wouldn’t, uh, do it to you, I don’t think,” she said. “I mean, I don’t think I could.”
“Who asked you to?”
“Just to put it on record, I mean. I don’t want to seem uptight or anything but I just-”
“Shhhh.”
She closed her mouth and lay down, still unbelievably tense and nervous about the whole thing. I lay down alongside her and lost myself in her flesh. The boys were there, breathing hard, tuned in with what was going on, but I closed my eyes and they faded from the picture. There was just this fine female body, this equivalent of my own self when Rhoda and I first found each other.
Memory trips.
I tried, God, I tried. And she came so very close, worked up to a feverish pitch, came indeed so close that missing it was frustrating for her in a way that her couplings with the boys had not been. There orgasm had never loomed on her horizon, so not getting there had not diminished her fun. But this time, when she finally and irretrievably missed it, when I looked up at her and read frustration in her eyes, I could see that she could not be left this way, that she had to make it, had to get where she was trying so hard to go.
There was a way.
There’s always a way.
“Your turn,” I said.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
“But I said.”
“I know what you said.”
“But-”
“Fuck what you said.”
The color drained from her lace. She looked at me, trying to see in my face some indication that I was kidding, and she didn’t see anything of the sort. Because I wasn’t. She opened her mouth to say something and had nothing to say, and just went on gaping at me.
To the four of them I said, “Glory is going to do me now. But you’ll have to help her.”
And they did.
She didn’t want to let them. They held her by the arms and positioned her over me, and one of them caught up her hair in his hand and pushed her face into position, and she said “No, no,” in a defeated little voice, and then she did what she was supposed to do.
I didn’t really feel a thing. It wasn’t for me, it was completely selfless, it was for her.
Of course it worked.
She came with a little shrill cry, shook and trembled and sighed. I think she may have lost consciousness for a moment but I can’t be sure. Then she looked up at me, her face one I had not seen before, her expression equal parts of fear and wonder and delight.
The boys did not say a word. They were lost, and were bright enough to know it. I told them to dress and wait for us in the car. They put on their clothes in silence and got out of the room.
She said, “I was afraid, Priss.”
“Of course.”
“I guess that must have been what I was afraid of.”
“I think so, yes.”
“Am I-?”
“Don’t look for labels.”
“But I screw every boy in the world and nothing happens, and now-”
“You’ll come with boys, too. It’s a matter of knowing how. Now you know how, and everything’ll work out.”
“Even if it doesn’t, at least I know something about myself.”
“Yes.”
“Will I see you again?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Probably not.”
I told her some other things, and stroked her hair, and she put her arms around me and kissed my mouth and
