would be home soon. At last she said, 'I have to get dressed, darling. My husband, Carl, will be back any second. This will be our little secret, won't it, honey? And it doesn't have to be the last time, does it?'
'Oh, no way, Mrs. Dexter… ah, Ann. To answer your question – yes, I think what I need is a girl your age. Somebody who doesn't blush every time you talk about sex. Your husband is a very lucky man, Ann.'
'Thank you, Eddie,' she said softly, tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket, then leaned close, kissing him on the mouth. 'I only wish he appreciated me as much as you do.'
It occurred to her then that this young boy had given her something her own husband had failed to give, a realization which made her smile. How could she feel any guilt if that were the case?
CHAPTER FOUR
A rare occasion, though it did happen on miscalculated brainstorms. Dr. Carl Dexter, genius, researcher, sociologist, possessor of numerous Ph.D.'s – all attested to by the bronze plaques lining his office wall – did not have the facts to substantiate his theorized findings! How it happened, he wasn't certain. All he knew was that today was Friday and this crucial report was due to his grant sponsors by the middle of next week. Christ, it would take the entire weekend to mull through the interviews again, and try to decipher what quirk or misgiving of society had caused a great many females to turn to others of the same sex for companionship and sex. Had it anything to do with the population boom or zero population growth? Or was it just a mutant fiber in the moral structure of today's society?
Sure, he could guess and make up facts and plagiarize other researchers, but his ethical reputation would not allow that. So again, he flipped through the files of subjects who'd volunteered their time and openness to be interviewed, revealing the most intimate facts of their sexual lives.
During the initial interviews, he'd had each subject fill out a card indicating whether they were homosexual, heterosexual, or both – meaning bi-sexual. And what he needed now was a good juicy bisexual woman to cement his theory that women today are more interested in having careers and remaining single, rather than getting married and having children; all of this due to human's genetic code which is telling them, subconsciously of course, to stop having children, that the world is starving itself and choking itself from over population. Thus, sex is no longer contingent on having children, sex for the sake of sex being a more popular attitude.
Oh shit! A bunch of gobbledygook with nothing to prove it! Dr. Dexter scratched his balding head and, leaning back in his reclining desk chair, lifted his feet to rest on the window sill overlooking the student union, reaching for his Meerschaum pipe and cherry tobacco. Well, maybe he could conduct another interview this weekend; certainly Ann wouldn't mind. Now to find the right woman, that was the thing.
Still puffing on his aromatic tobacco, he swiveled on his coaster-legged desk chair to the filing cabinet and from the second drawer marked 'Interviews – Initial', pulled out the file with 'Homosexual – Female' written in bold letters. Stooping over, knees spread, he flipped through the folder, never breaking the rhythmical puffing on his pipe. 'Hmmmm,' escaped a throaty hum in his voice.
Valerie Barren, female, age 23, occupation – stripper! Hey, now that was the kind of proof he needed! His eyes squinted behind his gold-rimmed glasses as he tried to remember Valerie. Slowly, the image of the dark- haired vixen carnified before his mind's eye. Jesus! How could he have forgotten her?!
Yes, it was all coming back now. At the time of the initial interview he remembered thinking she had to be the epitome of a profoundly sensual woman. Not that his own Ann didn't have all the physical qualifications, even more so than Valerie… Christ, there was a girl with a body that wouldn't quit… but what good was it if you didn't know how to use it…? And there was no doubt in his mind but what that stripper would be a wildcat in bed. Now, wait a minute, Dr. Dexter, don't go getting carried away with your work again, he thought with a sly sensuous smile.
But damn it! He snapped his fingers. In his lifetime he'd never seen a doll so hot. Maybe she didn't have the quality of voluptuous curves that Ann possessed, but they were damned sure of the same quality. Shit, he could almost feel the firm smoothness of her softly rounded tit right in his hot hand, and she had one of the most inviting, tightest looking little asses swelling out behind that he'd ever laid eyes on, and he'd seen plenty during those initial interviews when he'd call Ann and tell her he'd be late at the office.
Maybe some time he'd go down to Broadway and watch her act – the one she did on stage, that is – and watch her display her wares. He bet she'd get into some ball tingling, lewd stances she'd strain to get into that would make him blow his wad right there before anybody had a chance to make him pay the cover charge. Carl leaned back in the desk chair and imagined Valerie Barren bending over straight-legged with her tautly ovaled ass cheeks smack dab facing his front row table so that the feathers of her costume brushed and tickled the end of his nose. Maybe she'd stoop and face him, swinging her long dark hair in lewd circles so that it swooped over the stage floor until her white young tits nearly popped out of their wispy halter! But best of all she'd squat, with knees widespread so that he could actually see the outline of her puffy little cunt all snug and mouth-watering up there between her shapely legs, even in the dim light of the stage.
But Jesus, how could he get to know her with Ann in the house? Ann… If only she could get a little more with it in their lovemaking. Oh, she always got hot enough at the start, but he knew without asking her that she couldn't cum, which was nothing but failing to let her libido go so that she could throw her beautiful ass into it full- fledged without feeling guilty. An old theory that proved true every time. But if that's the way it was, he wasn't going to complain. The luscious woman had everything else in the world going for her, and he knew what his offered security meant to her since her father died. Hell, she'd latched onto him the moment she set her eyes on him back there on campus, letting him know how it was with her by spreading those pretty legs the very first night. Christ, how she'd whimpered and squirmed, and how he'd socked the old cock to her… until she'd just lain there half crying and laughing when it was over, she was so happy. After that it got more intense, he remembered, until finally their meetings for lunch and making out under the campus oak grove got to be too much for the Dean of Women who'd made it her business to spy them out, just because she was so damned horny herself. Well, that's the way it was from the very beginning, the way he always said it should be, and he could damned well remember how jubilant he'd been just to see her sincere happiness, after waiting so damned long and sneaking out with professor's wives.
It occurred to the professor then, how she'd come on the other night! Christ, he'd almost forgotten about that! She'd said something about wanting to suck it, hadn't she? Sure as hell had! He'd poured away plenty of booze, he recalled, but hell, she kept filling his glass every time he turned around, almost as though she wanted him to get loaded. Goddamn, she'd said it all right… wanted to suck him off! Well now, he was just going to cultivate that program right soon, he lustfully decided, feeling the immediate responsive swelling of his long heavy cock. Maybe that's what she needed to really turn her on, and Goddamn, he was all for it…!
The phone snapped him out of his reverie.
'No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Dexter is not here,' he lied. '… Instant Press? Okay, I'll have her give a call the beginning of next week.'
Damn phone! Just when he was getting into some real heart-throbbing thought! Well… as long as the spell was broken, might as well get down to business.
'397-8294,' he muttered around the stem of his pipe tightly clenched between his teeth. 'Hope to hell she's home.'
Friday afternoon and Ann Dexter was all thumbs with her typing that afternoon as she worked at the small desk near the window in the Medical Center office. Carl had promised a short day, maybe four hours at most, since Dr. Everett had sequestered himself in the Medical Library where he was, at that very moment, mulling over the Chapman Report, Master's and Johnson and even going so far back as the 1960's reports of Dr. Kinsey, et al. His absence proved a blessing for the young blonde whose mind just couldn't seem to stick to the subject. Or was the subject too sticky? Oh, God, she didn't know!
She erased the 'm', brushing off the eraser debris with the brush end of the eraser, and typed in an 'n'. Minutes dragged on, and still her fingers wouldn't loosen, and all because of that fifteen year old boy! He'd
