Chapter One – Invitation
She was still half-asleep when she heard the sound of chains clanking. She rolled over
on her side and put both hands between her legs. She pressed hard against her pubic bone.
Her hands were together as if in prayer except that her fingers pointed down. The edges
of her hands rubbed slowly between her legs.
She was a little girl in her dream sliding up and down against a hickory post in her
uncle’s dark basement. She could only vaguely remember her parents. They never appeared
in her dreams. It seemed to her she had always lived in the rectory with her uncle who
was the village priest. Like in the other dreams, she was aware of his shadowy figure
behind the cellar stairs, watching her. He was always there, watching. She began to
whimper in her sleep. Her hands moved more quickly, and her pelvis ground against them in
a circular motion. Before she had a chance to climax, there was an explosive roaring in
the street. She woke up, trembling.
Outside, John Wallowitz stood next to his rumbling grader and pissed on the steel
treads. His stream ran down a crack between two treads and dribbled onto his shoe. He
pulled twice at his long, flaccid cock before stuffing it back in his jeans. When he was
a kid, one of the bigger boys told him that if he pulled on his cock every time he peed,
it would get longer and all the girls would go crazy for him. His cock was long, no doubt
about that. But women, unless they were whores or ugly, never gave him the opportunity to
display the results of his old habit.
Across the street Kathy Ryan stood at her bedroom window. She couldn’t actually see
the man’s cock, but she knew what he was doing. Her nightgown was bunched up around her
waist. Her small fingers stroked her clit. As she came, she stood on her tiptoes and
pushed her open cunt against the window. But the man’s back was to her. She sat down on
the bed, shaking. She remembered her uncle’s cold blue eyes and her fumbling attempts to
pull up her panties, and his voice always the same admonishing, “Shame, Katherine,
shame...God will punish, God will punish.”
It was something like a game between them, a contest that had never been resolved.
She knew he would watch her. She was obvious about going to the basement. She waited
until she felt his presence there on the top step. Knowing he was there made it exciting
in a way she could not understand. Knowing he would say “shame” and ”God will punish”
caused a fluttery feeling in her stomach and made her wet between her legs. She would
take down her panties and rub herself against the post. After awhile, he would step out
of the shadow saying, “Shame...shame...God will punish.” Then she would run to her
bedroom, fall upon her knees reciting the catechism while waiting for punishment neither
her uncle nor God ever administered.
Outside, the grader started up again with a roar that shook the house. All morning
the huge yellow machine lumbered back and forth cutting a wide, flat clearing in the brush
and scrub oak of the vacant land across the street. This was the way such things begin:
with a tall, solitary man and his machine pushing over trees and disturbing the morning
with smoke and noise.
It was quiet when she crossed the street. She held a cold bottle of Iron City with
both hands. Her cutoffs were tight. She could feel them pressing the dampness of her
cotton panties into the crease of her ass and the crease of her pussy. Her nipples pushed
against the loose tee shirt she wore.
John Wallowitz sat in the shade beside his grader. His shirt was soaked with
perspiration. He could feel the sweat in his crotch, and the seat of his pants stuck to
the bony flatness of his ass. His lunch box was open beside him. “Too fucking hot to
eat,” he said, half aloud and threw the sandwich back into the box. When he looked up she
was standing before him holding out a bottle of beer. “Goddamn!” he said, “you surprised
me.”
But he didn’t look surprised. He squinted his eyes and looked up at her: the long
dark hair, the brown eyes, small delicate face, full mouth, the quick rise and fall of her
breasts, the tiny waist, the way her shorts molded her firm ass and crept into the crack,
her beautifully shaped legs and small hands and feet. She looked like a little girl with
a woman’s tits and ass. He could feel his cock slide in sweat against his leg. He still
hadn’t reached out for the bottle.
“I live across the street,” she said. He continued to ignore her outstretched hand.
“I...I...thought you might be hot,” she said, and immediately reddened. “I...I...mean...”
He raised one eyebrow and smiled. She noticed that his teeth were yellow stained and the
front one was broken. A dark purple scar extended in a half-circle from his right eye to
the edge of his mouth. She continued to blush and stammer, “I...mean...”
“You mean you felt sorry for old Wally out here in the sun and decided to bring him
something nice.”
“Yes...well, I thought...” He reached up and taking the bottle from her, quickly
twisted off the cap, and drank. She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. Some of
the beer spilled over his chin.
“Ahhhh,” he sighed holding up the half empty bottle, “that’s where the gusto is
supposed to be, right?” She smiled and nodded her head. He leaned forward and clamped
his big hand over her foot. She was wearing thongs, the callused skin of his hand
suddenly tight against her bare foot shocked her. She tried to draw back, but he held her
firmly. She could feel her toes curling, and the grit on his hand was like sandpaper
against her flesh. “Do you really think that's where it’s at,” he said. “I mean the
gusto of life?” He studied the bottle. “No,” he continued, “it ain’t in a bottle.” He
looked hard into her eyes, then let his gaze drop slowly and settle on her crotch.
Suddenly, it seemed as if there were a movie playing in her head. She saw her
fingers lightly tracing the horrible scar. Then she was bending over him, holding his
face between her hands. She kissed his eyelids and the pink tip of her tongue followed
the livid curve of the scar, lovingly, tasting his sweat. Then she slipped her tongue
into the corner of his mouth feeling it explore the yellow teeth, rubbing it against the
edge of the broken one. The movie stopped. He released her foot and she almost fell.
She was trembling and breathing hard. Her mouth felt dry.
“Thanks for the beer,” he said. “You know, after work I usually stop down in
Hawthorne and have a couple more. I owe you one.”
“Oh, no,” she said, “I just thought...” Her voice sounded strange, as if she were
hearing someone else do a bad imitation of her. “You see, I’m married...my husband, we,
he and I live across the street and…”
“Wally,” he interrupted. “My first name’s John but everyone calls me Wally.” She
nodded. “It’s the only bar in Hawthorne,” he said. She started to go. “Hey!” he yelled,
“what’s your name?”
She turned back to face him. “Kathy,” she said.
“You have nice legs, Kathy.” The color rose to her cheeks. He smiled, “Harry’s
Bar.” She walked quickly, then half ran toward her house. “In Hawthorne!” he shouted.
Later in the afternoon, it began to drizzle, one of those late August rains that go
on for days, muggy and hot. She wore a nylon blouse and a slim tan skirt. She was about
to put on her raincoat, but she returned to her room and, from deep in the corner of a
dresser drawer, pulled out a silver chain. Attached to the chain was a Saint Christopher
medal. She placed it around her neck and fastened the clasp. Before backing the car out
of the garage, she removed her bra and panties and stuffed them into her purse. On her
feet were white high heels.
Hawthorne was ten miles down route eighty-six in a depressed area of the county.
Long ago the coal mines had been worked out and the freight depot closed. Harry’s Hotel
Bar was seldom frequented except for alcoholic pensioners and itinerant construction
crews.
She pulled into a parking space and got out of the car quickly, not allowing herself
time to think. In her stomach was a hollow, sinking feeling. Five men were grouped
together at the bar, and one old drunk slept at a table in the far corner. The light was
dim. An overhead fan turned lazily. Her heels clicked on the bare wooden floor. All of
the men at the bar turned toward her.
“Hey, well Jesus H. Christ!” shouted Wally. “I told you guys she’d probably show.”
She stood before them now. Except for one man, the rest had swiveled around to stare
at her, but no one had moved to offer her a seat. “Harry, you better ask for proof,”
someone said.
“Yeah, Harry,” Wally laughed, “looks like you got a minor here.” His eyes were
bright. She could see that he was excited. “Hey, what’s your name again?”
“Kathy,” she said, feeling her face grow hot and red.
“Right...Kathy...Katherine.” He turned to the huge black man on his left. “Look at
them legs, Cliff. She’s got the best damn legs I ever seen.” He waved his arm toward the
empty tables. Kathy, walk around the place. Let the boys have a look.”
“No, please...I feel...” she began.
“Go on, do it!” Wally said. “Stuff like you never pays us a visit here in
Harry’s.”
No one smiled. The men continued to stare at her. The only sound was the soft
whirring of the paddle fan. Kathy looked down at the floor. After a moment she walked
over to the sleeping drunk and returned. She knew that they were undressing her; that
they were pushing their cocks between her bare legs. “You’re all right!” Wally shouted.
He was confident now, arrogant and drunk. He stood up. She hadn’t realized how tall he
was or how thin. Through her mind flashed a picture of her on her knees in front of him.
She would need a stool to kneel on or pillows, like a little girl at communion. The
thought startled her. She had never touched a man there with her mouth, not even her
husband.
“Kathy here ain’t no shanty Irish,” Wally was saying. “She lives up in Ceder Grove,
big house, couple hundred thousand, right, baby?” He put his arm around her waist and
reached up to cup her breast in his big hand.
“Yes,” she said, “it cost about that.” She wanted out of here. This was no place
for her.
These men were ugly and mean. They had been drinking. Wally was the worst of them.
But his hand was hot on her breast. She felt her nipples swell.
“And little Kathy here brung old Wally a cold beer in the middle of the morning and
damned if she wasn’t wearing the tightest shorts you ever seen.” Wally shook his head and
grinned.
Cliff, the big black man, sipped his beer, but did not take his eyes from her. His
head was shaved. There was a gold ring in his left ear. Wide leather straps were buckled
tightly around his thick wrists. There were metal studs and heavy loops embedded in the
straps. The wide bracelets could easily circle her ankles. A cord could be put through
the loops to pull her legs apart, to open her.
Wally tapped the arm of the man at her right, the one who had not yet swiveled around
to look at her. “This here’s Ezra Stein,” Wally said. “He’s a fat, dirty old bastard,
but smart. Ezra reads a lot.” The fat man nodded as he turned lazily to stare at her.
His little eyes were set deep in his face. His belly hung over his belt. Several buttons
were missing from the lower part of his shirt. She could see the pale flesh of his belly
and a trickle of sweat. His hands were soft and puffy, the spatulate fingers swollen at
the joints. His pig-eyes glanced first at the Saint Christopher’s medal, then rose to
meet hers. She felt, all of a sudden, very cold and frightened. She tried to look
somewhere else but couldn’t. He smiled slightly. The pudgy hands twitched. He turned
his back to her.
Wally pointed to the empty stool between Cliff and Ezra. “Sit here,” he said, and
took his place standing behind and to one side of her. The cracked plastic seat felt damp
and sticky against her bare legs. She ordered a beer and paid for it herself. As she
lifted her glass to drink, Wally’s hand slipped under her raincoat. She drew in her breath
and quickly put down the glass. She glanced toward the door, but did not move to get up.
She wondered if he would unbutton her blouse and rub his rough hand across her breast.
The men, except for Stein, watched Wally’s hand as it moved beneath her coat. “Jesus,”
Wally said, squeezing her breast, “they ain’t big but they are perky.” He laughed,
looking around at the others and winking. “No bra, neither,” he said. The color rushed
to her cheeks.
Cliff reached for her hand. She pulled back, upsetting her purse on the bar. Wally
spotted the panties and dug them out. He waved them back and forth. She clenched her
hands in her lap and stared down at them, her face red. Wally held her panties over his
head. “And, Goddamn, nothin under her skirt!” he laughed. “Who wants a sniff? Only one
buck for a sniff!” He put them to his nose. “Ahhhh, a real lady!” The men began
laughing and shouting.
“I’ll take them,” Cliff said, and held out a ten-dollar bill.
“They’re yours for free!” Wally shouted. Cliff stuffed the panties in his pocket.
“I pay,” he muttered quietly, and placed the ten in Wally’s hand.
“No!” Kathy cried. “Please Wally!” Suddenly, under her coat, his fingers gripped her
nipple. He dug his fingernails into it. The unexpected pain was sharp and searing. She
gasped. He swung her around, still cutting with his nail into her nipple. She was about
to scream, but a look in his eyes stopped her.
“It’s Mr. Wallowitz,” he said squeezing tighter. “Mr. Wallowitz,” he repeated.
Tears came to her eyes. Stein still had his back to her, but the others watched silently.
In spite of the pain, she felt a hot rush between her legs. “I ain’t givin you leave to
call me Wally. Who the hell do you think you are? Just another rich bitch in heat,
right? Ain’t that right?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Mr. Wallowitz.”
“Tell the boys why you’re here. What you want from Mr. Wallowitz.” He eased the
pressure on her nipple. She caught her breath and forced back the tears.
“I don’t know. I...I...mean I want to...I...I…want to...to...” she couldn’t think.
“Speak up, Goddamn it!” He twisted her throbbing nipple. “Tell them.”
She looked up at him. The ugly scar had deepened. The pockmarks were an angry red.
“I...I...want you to,” she paused. “I want you to come to my house and...and…”
“Say it right!” he shouted. The men waited.
“Do it to me,” she whispered, looking down at the bar, her voice on the edge of
breaking.
He tore open her coat and ripped her blouse down the front. Her hands flew up
quickly to cover her bare breasts. Wally took both of her wrists in one hand and held them
against the bar. “Show,” he said, nodding to the men at the bar. He let go of her
wrists. Still not looking up, she slowly lifted her hands to cup each breast. She held
them out first to the men at her left, then turned to the fat man. Stein placed his hand
lightly on the breast closest to him. His white flesh was cold and wet, yet his touch
left a burning sensation that caused her to tremble. He slid his hand under her breast
and lowered his head toward it. She thought he was going to take the swollen nipple
between his thick lips. Instead, he spit on it. His spit was cold. She watched it
slide, like a pale yellow snake, over her nipple and down the side of her breast. “Ohhh,”
she said, softly, “ohhh.”
Wally spun her around to face him. He placed her tiny hands on each side of his
face. She pulled him down to her, pressing her bare breasts against him. Before their
lips met, her mouth was open to accept his tongue.
“Jesus,” Cliff said.
Wally’s face between her hands was rough, his skin bumpy. Her fingers found the
scar. She followed it with her fingertips. Wally shuddered and pulled away, shaken.
With her right hand, she reached up and jerked violently at the Christopher medal breaking
the chain. The room was silent as she closed her coat and fastened its belt.
“When?” Wally asked.
“Friday night,” she said, trying to keep her voice under control. The men knew she
was hot. They could smell her heat. It hung in the humid air. It was as penetrating as
the soft rain that whispered against the plate glass window. “Friday,” she repeated,
“around nine. My husband won’t be back until Saturday.”
Wally had regained his composure. “And if I don’t show?”
She looked at him and shrugged.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
Turning toward Stein, she placed the medal next to his glass. He stared straight
ahead, ignoring her. She picked up her purse and walked quickly to the door knowing that
behind her were at least four hard cocks. As for Ezra Stein, she wasn’t at all sure.
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