Authors: The Demon
An energetic morning and the solving of a few not-quite-so knotty problems, and then the ringing of the dinner bell as it growls in an empty stomach. Lunch. And whatever happened to whats-her-name?
Hi, how are you? smiling and bending slightly.
Well, hello stranger, eyebrows slightly raised in a questioning look, this is a surprise.
Mind if I sit down?
Its a free country and a public bench.
Harry sat next to her, balancing his lunch on his lap,
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chuckling to himself at her obvious hostility and the reasons for it. I/ll tell you, its good to be home, Mary looking at him suspiciously, after a job like that.
You were out of town? the hint of hope in her voice obvious.
Why else do you think I didnt keep our lunch date? smiling into her face. You dont think I forgot, do you? She shrugged almost apologetically. Got a sudden emergency call shortly after I left here and had to fly to Chicago.
Really? her face softening into a smile, and you just got back?
Late last night. I would have called your office, but of course I didnt know who you worked for.
O, well, thats not important. You know, I usually sit here anyway, smiling, the tension now gone from her shoulders.
Good, a warm squeeze of her knee, then a bite of his sandwich as he smiled at her.
The breeze warmed, and the reflections in the lake were friendly, as were the birds that flew and hopped by, and an occasional squirrel zipped by, then posed and wrinkled his nose. A delightful day, a delightful time of chitchat, of mirth and laughter, a delightful hour and a half. After Harry dropped their paper bags in the trash can, they walked slowly up the walk, Harrys hand lightly on her shoulder. He stood on the corner until she had entered the building, then zipped along Fifth Avenue to his office.
Forty minutes late. An eyebrow or two seems raised a wee bit. He seems to attract just a little more attention than usual as he hurries to his desk. Is there a frown, perhaps, on an executive face behind a closed door? O well, if so, it will soon be gone. No one is going to hang him for being a few minutes late. He/ll get his work done without any trouble, and it wont happen again. So wipe that frown off and relax. Everything is all right. I can take care of things. And anyway, life is just a bowl of berries.
Lunch the following day was even more delightful. There was no hostility to overcome, and they were relaxed and cheerful. Harry wanted to be certain to get back to the office a few
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minutes early and openly checked the time, telling Mary that he had to be certain to get back to the office before two as he was expecting a very important call from Chicago, about that emergency job I had to fly out there on.
What is it thats so important, anyway? You never did tell me what it was all about.
O well, its just a system to coordinate a couple of existing national, and international, communication systems into one instant network for the distribution of telemetry data and related fixed logs—
O.K., O.K., laughing and waving her hand, forget it. He joined her laughter and stopped telling the story, but continued to check his watch.
Checking his watch was not an affectation, but a necessity. He enjoyed the game he was playing so much that he could, as he had the day before, forget time completely, and he did not want to do that. Toying with Mary rekindled that spur of excitement in his gut, that twinge that came from expectation and apprehension, but he did not want to jeopardize his job for the game, no matter how much he enjoyed playing it.
Harry White got back to the office almost five minutes early and sat smugly at his desk, painting smiles of approbation on the frowning faces of yesterday.
Part of the game with whatser-name was, naturally, to let her dangle. And the longer she dangled, the greater the excitement, the tighter that worming twinge became and the more it spread itself out in undulating rings through his body until it reached the tips of his fingers.
And, of course, the longer she dangled, the more anxious she became. He wanted her to fumble around, as she was starting to do, awkwardly looking for ways to tell him she wanted to see him again, and not only for lunch; trying to find out where he lived (she asked him, today, how long a subway ride he had each day, and he told her he took a bus, about twenty minutes) and what he did with his spare time, and where he went and with whom. . . .
Harry parried each reach-
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ing question easily, though he did admit that he was not married, which obviously pleased her as Harry knew it would. And, with each answer Harry whetted her curiosity, and so their little repast by the lake, or short strolls by its edge, were a time of fun, games, excitement and relaxation for Harry. And it was obvious that Mary enjoyed these times too. Perhaps even more than Harry, and obviously in a different way and for different reasons.
One of the things, an important one too, that made it easy for Harry to continue this game indefinitely, something he had never done before, was the fact that he enjoyed her company, at least for the short time they spent with each other. And that time never amounted to more than a few hours a week because one of the elements of Harrys game was never to see her more than two days in a row, and never more than three days a week. After a few weeks the game became a game and in addition to his other goals, Harry wanted to see just how long he could keep the game going ... or perhaps it would be more specific to say to see how long he would want to keep it going. Ah well, only time would answer that question. Only time, happy time, would show when Harry would allow whatser-name to seduce him. Ah yes, I/ll tell you something, its lovely to watch spring slide toward summer in Central Park, to see more leaves on the trees and bushes with each day, and more eagerness in her eyes. Ah yes, Harry knew that it was true, that New York was, indeed, a summer festival.
And festive it was by the lake in Central Park, Mary talking more and more about her husband and her discontent and disillusionment with her marriage. Harry wisely refrained from attacking her husband, which would have forced her to defend him and start talking about what was nice about him, but he did stop defending him and offering excuses and/or explanations for his conduct and lack of concern and attentions toward her. As a matter of fact he just listened, a concerned expression on his face, as Mary allowed that her husband was an asshole, a big-mouthed son of a bitch. He never, not once, has he ever sat and listened to me ... like you do—a tower-of-
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strength and understanding expression on Harrys face—he just turns on the television or walks out of the room and if I walk after him and try to make him listen to me, if I try to get him to understand that Im a human being with feelings and needs and things, he just calls me a dumb broad and goes out with the boys. Oohhhh, shaking her head agitatedly, there are times when I think I would shoot him if I had a gun.
O, you wouldnt want to do that, touching her hand solicitously, you would just go to jail and deprive me, and the rest of the world, of your company. Mary smiled at Harry, then suddenly frowned as he said he felt sorry for her husband.
Feel sorry for him? Hes the one who is always going out with the boys, who comes and goes as he pleases, who gulps down a meal I sweat to prepare, then belches in my face and leaves. Just like that. He goes, wherever he goes, no thanks, no nothin, and leaves me alone with the dishes. See if I ever slave over a stove again. Hes lucky if he gets a TV dinner.
You dont understand what I mean, patting her hand and smiling, I mean its a shame that he denies himself the extreme joy, and excitement, of listening to you, and watching the light dance in your eyes when youre excited.
O, do you really mean that, that its exciting to listen to me?
Of course, chuckling and looking into her eyes, why would I say it if it wasnt true?
And so the game continued, Harry getting more and more excited as he watched her excitement grow. There were times when Harrys nose seemed to twitch as he smelled a bitch in heat, and so the combination of the game he was playing, and Marys squirming struggle with herself and her neglect by her husband, made Harry aware that the game would have to end soon. Or at least this stage of it.
And then, In the Merry, Merry Month of May, except that it was June by now, Harry finally responded to a gambit by Mary. They were sitting on their bench, chatting, and Harry finished his sandwich and was crumbling the paper when Mary reached over and brushed the crumbs from his lap, spending extra time, and effort, on a persistent crumb on the upper,
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inner part of his thigh. Harry sort of chirpped inside his head, and raised his leg slightly against her hand, then put his open hand on hers, caressing it strongly as he looked deep into her eyes, his lids slightly squeezed and his nostrils just barely flared. He felt her hand twitch as the tip of his tongue just managed to squirm its way through his lips.
We cant go on like this, Mary, slowly sliding his hand off hers and reaching up with his other hand and rubbing the back of her neck. For a couple of seconds her eyes closed as she surrendered to his hand, then they opened partly as she looked at him (krist, this bitch is horny). What can we do?
Harry just stared into her eyes, enjoying the game and hoping he did not bust out laughing.
When? moving her hand against Harrys hand, Harry chuckling inside, enjoying his small victory of having her ask him. He applied a little more pressure to the nape of her neck, and her eyes rolled back for a second and her body swayed with pleasure.
Tomorrow night, after work.
She nodded her head and continued to sway with his hand. I/ll tell my husband Im going out with the girls from the office. Harry nodded, sort of tap dancing in his head, with a smile as his umbrella, and wondering what her reaction would be when he announced a change of plans tomorrow afternoon. Ah, tomorrow . . . another day, another lay ... hahahaha, why not? I/ll tell you about tomorrow, what they say about it is a lie. It does come. It always comes. Haha, and so do I. And Mary? Quite contrary? Ho, ho. Why not? Im sure she/ll come ... if I invite her . . . hahaha, would you like to come, my dear? Hey Louie, come again on the rice pudding. Be my guest. Yeah, tomorrows another day . . . with a razzmatazz and a twenty-three skiddoo. Trip down the path with those pretty maids all in a row. Nope, she aint contrary at all. Hahaha. To-morrow is a-noth-er day. . . .
And what ill tidings bring ye to she? Be it tidings of pain or joy? Ah, yes, pain or joy? How can I answer? With a wave
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of the hand? A shrug of shoulder? A nod of head? Or shall I answer with that beast of beasts, another question? If you will, a question. How beats her heart? How quickens her breath? And tell me, does not her pulse pound and throb through her veins? And how quivers that succulent mound of Venus between soft thighs? Surely the pounding pounds and the throbbing throbs, and the tingle doth crawl beneath her flesh. I/ll tell you what I bring the anticipating maiden—the joy of pain and the pain of joy. . . .
Yeah, youre goddamn
right. Right up the old gazoo, the moist and hungry gazookus. The next day Harry left the office early and met Mary on the corner. Tom, what are you doing here, I—
I have to talk with you, Mary, grabbing her arm and directing her up the street.
Mary looked at him, bewildered and surprised. Whats wrong? You look so intense, and—concerned. (Ah, very good Dr. White. Just keep that expression for a few minutes and we/ll be back in the saddle again.)
I got a call from Chicago an hour ago and I have to fly out there tonight.
O, no! Not tonight Tom, the light draining from her eyes. And I have no idea how long I will have to stay, the look of concern now coupled with frantic despair—and hunger. He looked deep into her lightless eyes. This was the penultimate stage of the game. In a few minutes she would be taking off his clothes and devouringly pulling him on top of her.
Mary returned his stare, then noticed a sign on the side of the building across the street, HOTEL SPLENDIDE. Tom, look, and he turned and looked at the sign, then back into her shining eyes.
O, and sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye, and all that sort of stuff. That broad was hungry, really hungry. So much so that Harry got the fright of his life and for a second not only regretted the entire game, but almost prayed for deliverance. They did not have too much time (much less than she knew), and when round one was finished there was not the
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time for a cigarette and banter, wanting to get in as much as possible (O, thats funny, a real bon mot), and she started to gobble his bird and a chill pierced him as he thought she was some kind of cannibal who was going to eat him, but for real, but after a shriek she apologized and her table manners improved, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief and with a wave of the hand he wished her bon appétit.
Time was short and the desires long, but they did the best they could with what they had. And, all things considered, they had quite a lot. They definitely were not disappointed with their LAprès-Midi dun Fuck. Eventually when time, and job consciousness, intruded upon their hasty liaison, they left bed and board (Sorry you have to eat and run. [O, thats a good one. ]) for the shower.
The shower was a large, flat sprinkler head protruding from the wall over the bathtub, which gave a feeling of openness to it. They soaped each other and rubbed and lathered and, from time to time, Harry would slip the soap up out of sight, and soon they realized that time and job would have to wait just a little longer and Harry helped Mary stretch out in the tub and mounted his maiden fair, the water falling and sprinkling itself on his back and tinkling on the tub as he sang merrily his lay, with his big toe stuck in the drain. When the song was over (but the melody lingers on), they both stretched out on their backs and let the water plop on them, and slid up and down in the tub, laughing.