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- Herausgeber: Olympia Press
- Kategorie: Erotik
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
Upper middle class housewife gets a tabloid of her daughter living out loud in the hippie culture. Mom goes on a quest to find her daughter, in the process finding in herself previously-unexplored depths of sensuality.
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I'm Looking For Baby K.
Joanne Stonebridge
This page copyright © 2006 Olympia Press.
1
“You bastard!” Sheila cursed through numb lips as the tabloid trembled in her hand. “Why didn't you show this to me before?” But she had chosen Ron because he was a bastard and so, a more exciting lover than the other junior executives who worked with her husband.
Ron slowly caressed her belly and gently cupped her breast. “Because I was horny—and so were you. I knew you'd be upset...”
“Don't! She jerked away from his hands and sat up on the side of the bed. She felt herself edge towards hysteria as a thousand panicky thoughts flooded her mind. Did... had anyone else sent it? The women at the Country Club? John's boss? The girls at school.... John? Her eyes couldn't leave the cover of the underground newspaper and, although she had never seen it until this moment, she had the uncanny feeling that she had been studying it for years. Spelled in interlocking psychedelic letters was the newspaper's title,
ORGASM ORGOTTEN ORGETTING
Giddily, she blurted, “Orgotten, orgone... it's all orgone!” And Sheila began to giggle. The giggle became a laugh; the laugh became shrill and the room spun. Then she was aware of a slap in the face; Ron was saying something. The newspaper in her hands came into focus again.
Overprinted on a background of electric colors —blue at top blending to green to yellow to orange to magenta to deep purple, the background broken by flashes of patterned swirls and hexagons—was a photograph of two people. They were naked. The man was lying on his back. It was hard to see his face because his long black hair half-covered his eyes and his mustache acted as a lower mask. The girl though, sitting on his... sitting directly on his crotch, his two folded hands concealing their joining... the girl, not sitting but lounging there, leaning softly backwards, back on her hands on either side of his knees with her breasts—rather one breast bare and the other veiled by her long golden hair flowing around her shoulders... the girl's face was not obscured. Her daughter's face was not obscured. Karen Elizabeth's face was there for all the world to see.
Then Ron was sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, his arm around her shoulder gripping tight. The touch of his arm on her naked back felt hot against her suddenly chilled body.
“Stop it, Sheila! Snap out of it.” His hand shook her shoulder gently and the inside of his arm brushed her nipples.
“Are you all right now? Let me get you a drink.”
Shock, anger, panic, sadness and the answers to old questions mingled in her mind. Karen's last note had read “Goodbye, dear parents. Don't worry. I've found some wonderful friends. At last.” This explained the weekend disappearances of the last half-year, her lying about the Easter vacation. Sheila didn't realize she was crying until she saw the tears blot on the newspaper.
“Here,” Ron put the glass of neat whiskey in her hand and she drank it automatically, without tasting. Then the sadness overwhelmed her and she began to cry in earnest.
Ron took the newspaper from her hand and picked her up like a little girl. “Now, now,” he said and lay her back on the bed, folding her into his arms, her head on his broad shoulder, his hands stroking her back and pressing her to him.
Sheila sobbed into the hollow of his neck, her arms going around his neck and she clung tightly to him, her fingers making deep indentations in the skin of his back, her breasts and belly pressed close to his as if he could absorb her grief through sheer physical contact. Sheila lost herself completely for a few moments, then other sensations began to intrude. The familiar flicker of fire along the insides of her thighs began to dart upwards to her belly as Ron's soothing hands stroked up and down the sensitive flesh of her back. Her own arms tightened as she felt the tingle of her nipples as they pressed against the hair of his chest. Automatically, her hips moved to bring her belly closer to his and there was a moment of delicious shock as his pubic hair, stiff from the dried juices of their earlier love-making, stabbed the tender flesh immediately above her own bush.
Ron's hands were no longer soothing, but were moving deliberately, fingers spread wide and rippling the flesh of her back from the nape of the neck down over the shoulder blades, along the muscles of the spine, his fingertips pressing on the vertebrae as they passed and ending at the cheeks of her ass which he squeezed and toyed with. Under her fingers, Sheila felt the muscles of his back work and her own hands, seeming to have a life of their own, moved from his broad shoulders down his rib cage over the small of his back to his small buttocks, marveling at the firmness of the flesh, the leanness of his tennis/hand-ball hardened body. Her mouth opened and her teeth touched his collarbone; her tongue tasted the hot maleness of his skin. Ron's hand began the journey down her back again and Sheila moved her breasts against the hair on his chest. Her nipples pouted and firmed, the rough touch of his hairy chest sent flashes of heat to mingle with the fire that Ron's hands trailed down her back. Her belly began to tremble as it touched his and she gasped as his fingers moved over her ass and touched the outer lips of her cunt, passing on to caress her inner thighs. Sheila's teeth closed on his collarbone and while one hand still caressed his back, moving more frantically, she took her other hand from beneath his arm and moved it down his body to touch and hold his cock which was now growing firmer and longer. Ron's fingers left Sheila's inner thighs, cupped for a moment the whole of her sex, then plunged through the outer lips to the now wet inner lips of her cunt. Sheila moaned and flexed her hips slowly forward so that three fingers sank slowly in while the little finger touched her clitoris, making her pant with anticipation. Her own fingers worked feverishly on Ron's cock—stroking, pulling, reaching beneath to fondle his huge balls. His cock began to form a steel-hard arc, but Sheila couldn't wait. Ron's fingers were too skillful.
Sheila pulled his hand away and wrapped her legs around one of his and ground her clitoris against his muscular, hairy thigh, her hand returning to his cock, holding it like a magic wand as she worked against his thigh. In moments, the fires exploded, sending her into long spasms of blinding pleasure. Ron laid her on her back and—her hand still holding his cock —moved the head of his cock 'round and 'round her clitoris, making her gasp and writhe in the after-throbs. Then, his needs became urgent also and he pushed the head of his cock through the outer lips. Sheila was reluctant to let go of her grip on his cock, but as the thick head of the cock pushed through the inner lips and touched the walls of her vagina, her hands went to the cheeks of his ass to draw him deeper within her. Ron was becoming increasingly impatient. He thrust eagerly, driving to half the length of his cock, withdrew slowly and thrust again, deeper. Sheila lifted her knees to welcome his deeper penetration and moaned as she felt the head of his cock touch the neck of her womb. Her arms went around his back and her fingernails dug in as her hips began to move to Ron's rhythm. He pulled out his cock to the very head and thrust deeply; Sheila's hips flexed upward to receive the cock and her vaginal muscles tightened on his cock as he withdrew, milking out every tiny possibility of pleasure. As he thrust again, her knees went to his rib cage and her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging in his ass to push him even deeper into her cunt. Ron was made wild by her movements and his thrusts grew stronger and quicker. Sheila thought that his cock filled her entire body and every nerve screamed in delight at the movement deep within her. Each thrust stoked the fire hotter and she savored the white flame that licked deep within, waiting to consume her. Then his thrusts came even quicker—the slap of bellies as they sprang together, her hips meeting each thrust with matching ferocity—and their hoarse pantings grew louder. Sheila felt herself moving to the brink of ecstasy. Her body shook with pleasure as she welcomed each thrust completely and tightened upon each withdrawal. Her heels jabbed down on his ass as if she were wearing spurs. Then she felt his coming and whimpered as his hot spurting within her triggered her own release. She shuddered under the sweet explosions of pleasure that seemed to make her body melt under his. He ground out the last jolting spasms of his pleasure and she tightened on his cock, wringing every last drop of semen from his balls. Ron moaned with the pleasure that is almost painful and Sheila thought she would faint from one of the most exultant, completely satisfying orgasms she had ever experienced.
In the after-throbs, when she became conscious of their mingled moanings and the heaving of Ron's chest and the sliding of their bodies in the sweet sweat of love, she wondered about the intensity of her pleasure. Moments before, she had been sobbing her heart out. When she was able to catch her breath again she said, “That was... so good, Ron, so good. I wonder... why?”
Ron kissed her, rolled onto his back and reached for the cigarettes on the bedside table. “I'm not surprised.”
“What do you mean?”
Ron half-laughed. “I know it will sound clinical as hell, but that was the second-best screw I've ever had in my life.”
“What!” Sheila was outraged and curious at the same time. In spite of herself, she couldn't suppress a smile. “Ron, that's probably the foulest, most ungallant remark I've ever heard in my life.”
Ron laughed and handed her one of the cigarettes he'd lit. Again, Sheila was captured by his rugged handsomeness. “The best screw I ever had was with a girl who had Asian flu and was running a temperature of 104—no, wait. That's not counting the best of the best, the very first—when I lost my virginity and found women.” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, “Mary Ann Smith, I salute you. May God bless you and keep you wherever you may be.” He rolled onto his elbow and smiled down at Sheila. “You know, it's interesting how little women appreciate the impact of the loss of a man's virginity. The first fuck is a revelation, an opening of doors akin to finding religion...”
“What the hell does that have to do with... anything?” Sheila was becoming annoyed.
Ron laughed again and kissed her nipple. “Women are too damned mental about sex,” he said. “Especially when there are complications, like... husbands.”
“That's not fair!”
“Listen to me. Now, fucking is fucking, no matter what.”
“You're not only a bastard, you have a dirty mouth.” Sheila felt uncomfortable about the use of the words “screw” and “fucking” which were not only vulgar, but degraded their lovely experience of a few moments ago.
Ron went on. “What I mean is that women usually carry all kinds of other things with them into a simple, natural act. Worries and frets and what if anybody hears and sees, and what to cook for dinner when I get home... the whole mess. It's only occasionally that the mental part is left behind and the sheer physical joy of how good a good fuck feels to the body comes through—like the girl with the flu who was one of the most mental women I've ever known.”
Sheila rebelled at the thought. “It's easy for you to talk about it because you're a bachelor and don t have anything to worry about. She looked through me windows; one whole wall of Ron's bedroom was glass, affording a magnificent view of the Santa Maria Valley. She wondered how many of her friends from the Country Club had jumped at the chance to see the view from Ron's mountain bachelor home, with no neighbors to watch the comings and goings, no worries about the car being seen pulling into the very accommodating motels surrounding Burlingame, and only a twenty-minute drive from town. She knew of at least three close bitchy, horny, fellow work-widows, who had intrigued her enough to work on Ron herself. She only half-listened while he continued.
“Hear me out. This woman was very mental. She was a schoolteacher and any time we wanted to make love—no, that's not true; any time we wanted to screw, she'd go through the whole business of 'What about the school board? What about the neighbors? What about the PTA? What about... the blasted dog down the street listening to the creaking of the bedsprings!' It was usually terrible because even when we were screwing, she was wondering if all the window shades were pulled down. Then she got the flu and had a temperature of 104...”
Sheila settled back, curious, but with all kinds of nagging arguments in the back of her mind. There was a difference here, but Ron's husky voice was so soothing that she forgot for a moment what the difference was.
“... and at that temperature, the mind flits around and the body is left free to pleasure itself. At that time, in that condition, she turned out to be the most sensuous, sensual woman I've ever known and that screw was the best screw I've ever had in my life.”
“I'm happy you enjoyed yourself,” Sheila said flatly. She was annoyed and hurt both because he could talk about something as complex as the act of love so coldly and so philosophically, and because he talked about comparisons and she came off second-best. She was about to get up, dress and leave when he continued.
“I did, very much. And I did, very much enjoy our... passage of love... when your mind was occupied with Karen. Your mind was full of worry and hurt and sadness and your body acted on its own— acted beautifully. I'll never forget it.”
“I'm not a machine...” Sheila wanted to scream.
Ron took her shoulders in his strong hands and looked in her eyes. “Lie down. I'll get us a drink.” His voice was so commanding and his eyes were so full of understanding that she had to obey.
While he was mixing the drinks, he said quietly, “I wouldn't worry too much about Karen. She'll be all right. You know how young girls are.”
Sheila laughed mirthlessly. “I wish I did. I think I do sometimes, but the truth is, I've never been one.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She sat up in the bed and snubbed out her cigarette. She felt tired and very old. “I married John when I was seventeen... we had to because of Karen. I graduated from high school five months gone...” She tried to remember how many boys and men she had had before John, how many since their marriage. “Then with John in the Army, then in college and our working so hard to get where we are today... I think I've always been old...” Her voice trailed off as she thought of John's work too, his months of overtime, his out-of-town trips. He had never been a young boy either. “We wanted so much for Karen.”
“Here,” Ron handed her the highball, lay down beside her and touched her breast. The whiskey was warming and she leaned back into the pillows.
“You're worried that she'll be hurt...” he began.
Not only her, Sheila thought.
“... but look at her objectively.” He picked up the newspaper and held it above them. “She doesn't look unhappy; in fact...” He stopped himself and went on, “She doesn't look all doped up or anything. It doesn't look like anyone's forcing her into it —twisting her arm.” He sipped at his highball. “What probably happened is that some arty son-of-a-bitch fed her a line about the purity of sex and breaking the traditions of abnormal secrecy about the glorious act of love and on and on—you can imagine the bullshit—and she bought it. It won't be the first time that a young girl has been conned. The guy just didn't tell her that she was going to make the front page of a newspaper.”
“Where did you get it?” The newspaper made her panicky.
“In the Haight-Ashbury. I was in the city yesterday and I passed through. It was in one of those bead and poster shops...”
Sheila groaned.
“Now don't worry. It wasn't being hawked in the street. It was on a table with maybe twenty other underground newspapers, midst the books of poems and pamphlets on how to avoid the draft. It's not likely that anyone we know would see it.” Sheila remembered the meeting of the Country Club decoration committee at the Garden Court of the Palace Hotel the week before and how they had driven through the Haight-Asbury on their way home. “They'll see it,” she said.
“Even if they do, I wouldn't worry about it—now shut up and think about it a minute. There's no one we know in this whole town who doesn't have something they're keeping quiet—especially sex hangups. You remember that bus station scandal where the police set up cameras in the men's room to catch queers? Few know it, because it was suppressed, but they photographed Mr. Charles Stamford, Mr. L. Everet Collingswood and Mr. Hugh Lambrose going down on somebody or other—usually young male prostitutes from the city.”
Sheila's eyes widened at the names of the most socially prominent names in town.
“Along with them, they took a perfectly beautiful photo of Muriel... yes, Muriel Kentborough, our boss's wife, crawling under one of the stalls to fetch her husband who fell asleep on the throne. We all wonder why he was there in the first place.”
“But...”
“The only thing you'd get, if anyone saw it, would be a lot of sympathy—phony sympathy. Everyone would act sorry as hell, but underneath they'd be saying, better you than me, baby, and thank God I'm not caught yet.” Ron looked into her eyes, “And you know it.”
Sheila was confused. Ron seemed right, but he was missing the point. This was Karen they were talking about.
“Let her have her fling,” he was saying, and she remembered those many weekends she had let Karen go on flimsy excuses or none at all so that she might have an unencumbered weekend with a lover. John was so often away now on business trips.
“I'll bring her back... to normal life,” she said and tried to sit up, but Ron pulled her back down, stroking her like a cat. The whiskey and the touch of his hand flowing from her hip to armpit brushed away her thoughts and she could see only a confused series of actions. She herself going to the Haight-Ashbury, Karen, refusing to talk with her at first... Ron's lips touched hers and slid down the line of her jaw to her neck... but then, she and Karen would sit down somewhere, perhaps in a coffee house—one of those dark, quaint places she had seen on her trip through the Haight... Ron's teeth and tongue teased her ear lobe and her breathing quickened... and she and Karen would talk as they hadn't done in years and there would be concessions on each side... Ron's mouth began a slow, maddening journey down her neck, pausing at the sensitive skin over the collarbone.
She brought her hand to his cheek to guide those wonderful lips to her breast that now waited for the hot, soft bite... she would let Karen, no, give Karen the right to do as she wanted on weekends as long as... Ron cupped her breast and his tongue raced 'round and 'round the areola, touching the hardened nipple, causing sharp waves of heat to flow down her belly. Sheila was thinking... college, if Karen goes to college... Then, the thoughts went out of her head as Ron sucked the nipple through his half-closed teeth and caressed it with his tongue. He pushed the nipple slowly out of his mouth with his tongue and his teeth bit softly as the nipple went to his lips; then he sucked it through his teeth again.
Sheila's hands moved from his head to the skin of his back and her head arched back in delicious pleasure as his mouth left that breast and moved to the other, his fingers coming up to manipulate the nipple still wet from his mouth. Her fingernails dug into his back and her leg moved over his body to caress her inner thigh on his rib cage as his teeth and lips left the nipple of her other breast and began to tongue and bite its way down through the valley between her breasts to her belly. Then it was too much for Sheila. She had to participate.
With the strength of passion, she pulled from beneath Ron and rolled him on his back. Turning quickly, she knelt at his head and kissed his eyes, down his cheeks to his lips where she paused, thrusting her tongue deep within his mouth before going to his chest. Her breasts hung on either side of his face and he kissed first one nipple, then the other. Her hands proceeded before her lips and as she tongued and kissed his chest, her hands were moving on his hard belly, fluttering softly, then scoring with the backs of her long fingernails. Ron's arms went around her back as he saw her intention and he sucked and bit at her breasts while she kissed his chest, bringing his hands around to caress her belly as she did his. Her mouth moved from his chest to the beginning of his belly at the breast bone— kissing, biting and licking. Her hands moved from his belly to hold and fondle his balls and his cock which even now arced up towards the ceiling. Ron's mouth moved to her belly and his fingers toyed with the hair on her mount. The flat of his middle finger slid through the crease of her sex and pressed there hard, but not penetrating. Sheila's tongue explored his belly and around and in his navel, causing his stomach muscles to quiver. His mouth also found hers and his hands cupped around her ass to push her down his body so his cock, which was now pulsing up to touch against the hair on her head, would find the hotness of her mouth. Sheila's head lifted and she could feel the incredible hard-softness of the head of his cock brush across her eyes and cheeks before she caught it in her hands and licked the head, tonguing the broad collar of the glans and taking the entire head into her mouth. At that moment, Ron's tongue found her clitoris and his tongue sent electric thrills through her body.
Ron's hands gripped the cheeks of her ass and brought her knees higher so that his tongue could flick from the clitoris to her inner lips. Sheila moaned and licked and sucked at the head of his cock, her hands cupping his balls and the base of his cock. But as delicious as the sensations were, she needed more. With her mouth still sucking at the head of his cock, her fingers firmly gripping his balls, Sheila lifted her sex from his face and crawled around so that his body was between her legs. Her mouth left his cock, but her hands didn't as she kissed her way up his belly until the head of his cock was poised at her cunt. Ron tried to thrust inside immediately, but she held him and permitted only the head to enter. Then she laid her head on his chest and sank slowly down on his hard shaft, his cock pushing and pulsating on its own, eager to enter the hot wetness. Sheila bit the muscles of his chest as she pushed down and down on the cock, thrilling with each fraction of an inch of penetration. Then Ron wouldn't be denied, his hips thrust up and his cock sank to the hairs. Sheila drew up her knees on either side of his body to make the penetration even deeper. In this position, Sheila could only accept, not actively engage, and she lay upon Ron's chest, moaning as each thrust of his hips pounded through her vagina to the mouth of her womb. Her belly began to quiver as each thrust melted her body with the erotic flames flashing from the pounding of the cock through her sex. Then Ron's thrusts came faster... and faster, and she was pushed to the edge.
“Do it!” she moaned, “Do it!” and she sat up slowly, stretching her body back, to engulf comp [...]
